


Little Bird

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: Fostered at Winterfell since her eleventh name day, Sabrynna knew more of her northern cousins than she did of her own parents. She grew up with them, played with them, and had come to love them fiercely as well. But King Robert's arrival will bring with it enough secrets to last a lifetime, forcing Sabrynna to choose between the family she loved, and the man who saved her life.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	1. Birth

The Lady Catelyn Stark sat beside the crackling flames of the fire in her chambers, reading the words scrawled across the parchment clutched in her hands for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, though the message had not changed since she had first broken the wax seal. In truth, she could not fathom it—the words from her sister, asking leave to send her first-born child, a girl, to foster with her aunt and uncle at Winterfell. Prior to this very moment, Catelyn had always believed Lysa to have been fiercely protective of the young girl, so much so, in fact, that the poor child was rarely permitted to leave her sight, even in spite of the presence of a ready and able Septa willing to care for the child while her parents tended to their own needs in the Capital.

Why then, was Lysa spiriting her daughter away to the North, in all respects exiling her from her own family in the wake of the birth of a son? It made no sense at all, and yet Catelyn would not have found herself capable of denying the small thrill she felt at the prospect of another, more feminine presence in a house near to overrun with the wildness of her boys, and Arya as well. Perhaps this girl—her young niece, Sabrynna—would be able to bring her two trueborn daughters closer, where she could not, providing Arya with proof that becoming a lady was truly not as terrible as she seemed to believe, while also giving Sansa a confidante, and source of eventual wisdom and grace.

She could only hope to be as worthy of the charge that Lysa had given her as her sister appeared to think she was, herself.

It was true that she was no stranger to sharing her family with a child that was not born of her womb, her expression souring in mere moments as Jon Snow's face swam in front of her mind's eye and tore at the tender flesh of her pride as though a needle were being repeatedly thrust against the exposed and throbbing wound therein. He had done no wrong to her, of course, nor had he gone out of his way to harm her children, but that did not stop her from finding fault with his presence over the years, regardless. Catelyn was no fool—she knew that many men fathered bastards, whether by conscious choice, or as the result of one evening's poor judgment and desperation mattering very little when it all came to a head, and the fate of that particular child stood in the balance. She supposed she had to admire her lord husband, in a way, for bringing that child home, rather than casting him out into the world with nothing but the will of the gods on his side. But that admiration notwithstanding, she found that she was entirely incapable of subduing her dislike for the boy, despite knowing that it would soon become readily apparent that her feelings towards her sister's daughter were far more welcoming than they were, or ever would be for Jon Snow.

If that made her an unfit lady of Winterfell, then so be it.

The sound of the door to her chambers opening with a soft creak soon forced Catelyn from her internal musings, however, her gaze lifting from the parchment that was still clutched tightly in her hand so that it could meet the unflinching blue of her lord husband's as he strode through the door and pushed it closed behind him with a muted thud. In what seemed to be no time at all, he took in her expression, his brow furrowing as he crossed the room towards her while she stood to be drawn into his embrace. In spite of the cold that still seeped into the room, no matter how often she stoked the fire at the hearth, Catelyn reveled in the warmth of her husband's embrace, the strength of his arms winding about her frame soothing her nerves for what felt like the first time that day. With the strength of his body so close at hand, she was almost able to cast aside all of her misgivings regarding the missive from her sister—her apprehension regarding Jon Snow—but of course as soon as she had been very nearly ready to relinquish her cares completely, Ned was breaking the silence between them, his voice a deep rumble that reverberated through his chest and sent a small shiver through her frame before she pulled back to look him in the eye once again.

"Maester Luwin tells me your sister has written," He began, watching his wife's reaction carefully, and therefore taking notice of how the skin at the corners of her eyes appeared to tighten just a bit, before he recognized the effort she made to school her expression into something less apprehensive, "Is Lysa well? Jon?"

"Both are, gods be good," Catelyn replied, managing the faintest of smiles for Ned's benefit, and then glancing down to the fabric of the shirt covering his broad chest, the fingers of one hand tugging at a stray thread while she simultaneously made note of the fact that the shirt needed mending, "She has a newborn son."

"And the babe is healthy?"

"He is."

"This is good news. Your sister, and Lord Arryn deserve such happiness."

"Lysa also writes that she is sending Sabrynna to us," Catelyn pressed, aware of the slight lift to her lord husband's brow, though he said nothing in favor of allowing her to explain further, "That she fears the child will grow bored in the Capital, of all places, and would fare better in the North."

"Your sister possesses a strange sense of what may bore a child—"

"Why would she do this, Ned? Why, when she has always kept the girl close to her side, before?"

"Perhaps she has reason to fear for the girl's safety," Ned advised, once again drawing Catelyn into his embrace, and smoothing some of the familiar auburn locks of her hair away from her brow in the process, "Perhaps she feels she can no longer keep her safe on her own."

"Who could possibly wish to threaten a child? And the daughter of the King's Hand, no less?"

"Dishonorable men."

"Do you truly believe that Jon would allow such men near his own flesh and blood?" Catelyn inquired, doubt coloring her tone as she watched her lord husband pull away from her and head towards the hearth, his expression turned introspective as he ran one large hand across his features almost without realizing that he had done so, "You grew up under his care, my love. You know well how he protects those he loves."

"I believe that something has given him reason to allow Lysa to send his daughter away. And as I do not choose to think that Jon Arryn would supplant a daughter for the sake of a son, what other cause is there than some threat to her safety forcing his hand?"

Despite her own reluctance to think of such things, Catelyn found that she could not entirely force her husband's words from her mind as they prepared for bed, the letter Lysa had written now resting upon the small wooden table before the hearth, forgotten at least until the morning light shone upon it and drew her attention once more. Her reply was already decided, of course, knowing as she did that Ned would be every bit as unwilling to decline her sister's request as she would be, herself.

Whether there truly was a threat against the life of her young niece, or not, the girl would find a welcome hearth and home and Winterfell, along with the love of family.

…


	2. The North

By the time the carriage bearing her to Winterfell arrived at its destination, Sabrynna was a remarkably disgruntled little girl, her features drawn into what seemed to be a permanent scowl that gave direct evidence to how her mood had turned as sour as the weather. She knew she ought to have been intrigued. That she should be feeling grateful for the welcoming sight of her lord uncle's people gathering in the square to meet her arrival, instead of sullen over the idea of an audience to bear witness to her exile. Despite how her father had always told her she was wise for her years, she could not fathom what might prove a significant enough reason for her lady mother to force her to come here, when life was clearly so much more interesting in the Capital.

Perhaps that fact alone was what had tampered with her perspective on this journey, until she could no longer appreciate the beauty of the landscape as it grew wilder the farther north they traveled, her thoughts instead almost completely distracted by her own self-pity and malice towards her mother for sending her away when all that she wanted was to remain by her side.

"It is just for a while, child. Until your father and I can know you are safe."

Even now, the echo of her mother's words left a bitter taste in her mouth, as though the words were spoiled sweetmeats, left out for sampling for far too long. They had plagued her, it seemed, for the entirety of her journey north, no matter what she might have done to try and divert her mind to some other topic that was more pleasing to the mind. And although she knew very well that her aunt and uncle would do what they could to ease her into their life as seamlessly as possible, that still did not relieve her from her apprehensions, her lips taking on an almost permanently pursed quality as she accepted the hand a nameless footman extended to assist her in her climb from the carriage down to the muddy ground below.

"Careful, milady. We would not want you to fall."

Barely sparing the man a passing glance, Sabrynna gathered her skirts and lifted them to avoid getting mired in the ruts and muck of the ground that had been compromised still further by their arrival. A woman with auburn hair had stepped forward out of the group that was gathered nearby, a warm smile gracing her features as she watched the young girl approach. In spite of some rather obvious differences in appearance, Sabrynna could not miss the familiar color of the woman's eyes, just as she could not ignore the similarity, however faint, in her facial features when compared to her own lady mother. And although the girl was hardly certain that her presence here would ever feel less than some sort of punishment for a crime she could not recall having committed, she could have been a fool to pretend that the gentle touch of the woman's hand upon her own as she dipped into a curtsy in hopes of giving her hostess a proper greeting was not at least somewhat reassuring, her wide green eyes meeting the blue of the older woman's as she realized she was being addressed.

"Welcome to our home, Sabrynna. I hope your journey was not too tiring."

"Thank you, my lady," The young girl replied, hoping that her words seemed courteous enough, in spite of her reluctance to accept her situation as it stood in the present, "I am happy to be at its end."

"And we are happy to have you," Catelyn Stark assured, drawing the girl into what she hoped would be a welcoming embrace, though she was not oblivious to how the tiny frame had tensed beneath her touch, all the same, "Come. You must be famished. And of course you will wish to meet everyone—"

"I would like that very much, my lady."

"Aunt Catelyn," The older woman corrected gently, aware of how the girl's green eyes were now gazing up at her in wide-eyed amazement over the declaration, and finding herself suddenly struck with a sudden realization that chilled her to her core, though she did what she could to act as though nothing was amiss, "You are family, child. It is my sincerest wish that you come to realize that as soon as you can."

Seemingly satisfied by such an assertion, Sabrynna fell into step beside her aunt as the older woman led her past the throng that had gathered to witness her arrival, and turned their path towards the great stone keep that lay ahead. Distracted as she was by her new locale, and the ever-present sense of homesickness that had her yearning for the Capital despite her mother's insistence that she travel north, she did not notice how her aunt's gaze seemed to fix itself upon her at regular intervals while they walked. She did not see the way in which Lady Catelyn's lips had pursed into a thin line, in direct contrast to the welcoming smile she had been modeling just moments before. Even if she had seen the expression upon her aunt's face, she likely could not have understood it, for although she liked to tell herself that she was wise beyond her years, just as her father had always said, she was very much in the dark about a truth that it appeared Catelyn Stark had just begun to suspect for herself…

Though they were nothing short of enthralling, the grey-green eyes that Sabrynna possessed were not her mother's, any more than they belonged to her lord father, the Hand of the King.

…

Later that evening, Sabrynna was cloistered in the chambers that were to become her own for the duration of her stay in Winterfell, her body burrowed beneath the heaps of furs on the bed in hopes of finding some modicum of warmth in a country that seemed determined to freeze the very marrow within her bones. At her aunt's insistence, she had shared meat and warm goat's milk with two boys not that much younger than she was, one with dark black hair and wild curls, while the other bore features more like her own. The dark-haired boy they called Jon, and the auburn-haired boy was Robb, or so the aging Septa told her when she was led into the dining hall and told to sit beside them for her supper. And even though she was told that both would welcome her every bit as warmly as Lady Stark's daughters, when they met to break their fast the following morning, Sabrynna was not blind to how even the Septa's lined features had seemed to tense as Jon abandoned propriety in favor of pulling the young girl into an enthusiastic embrace, though she was not aware that the gesture had anything more behind it than a simple reluctance to submit to such acts when it would be far more prudent to remain reserved.

No matter what came of her stay here, she supposed she would always remember that particular moment as one in which she had begun to stop feeling so alone…

Burrowed beneath the furs, and staring at the ceiling even though she knew she ought to have been sleeping, Sabrynna thought back on all that had transpired in just the short time since her arrival in Winterfell, her brow furrowed as she attempted to commit it all to memory. Her lady aunt had taken her to the great keep, first in silence, and then breaking it to explain some of its more prominent features until they had reached the chamber that would soon become her very own. Already, a servant had begun to unpack her belongings, packing her gowns away securely in the chest beside the bed, and lighting candles for when she would return to this very room later that night. Not long after, she was given over to the care of the Septa whose name she could not remember no matter how hard she tried, the gentle pressure of a hand upon her shoulder guiding her back down the stairwell, and into the dining hall, instead.

Then, of course, had come the meal that she had fallen upon as though her last had been ages ago, and not earlier that very morning, and the shy conversation that had taken place between herself, and two of her Stark cousins.

Or rather, one Stark cousin, and one bearing the surname of Snow.

Sabrynna knew well what that name meant. That it placed Jon far below his half-brother—below his sisters—even below her, in the eyes of the rest of the world. It made her sad to think that an innocent child could be held accountable in such a way for the sins of their parents, despite the fact that they could have done nothing to change their circumstances even if they tried. And yet in spite of the reality of his surname, Sabrynna had found Jon amiable. Curiously interested in her own circumstances, and what had led her to journey north, though not in a way that made her think he was asking her of these things with malicious intent.

She supposed that might just have to make up for how Robb, by contrast, was nearly silent throughout the entire meal, content to simply watch her interactions with Jon as a casual observer, and learn what he could about Winterfell's newest arrival in that way alone.

Sabrynna could not truly blame him for doing such a thing. Not when she had employed the self-same tactic when meeting certain lords and ladies of the court, preferring to keep to herself and simply watch as these persons engaged in various conversations and frivolities with her parents. Her lady mother had always criticized her for her silence, preferring that she use those moments as opportunity to practice the charms and wiles she would need to secure a good match for herself later in life. But her father had understood, a kindly smile often turning the corners of his mouth into a smile as he drew her into his side and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"You are learning all their secrets aren't you, sweet girl? A smarter course than most would take at even twice your age."

She cherished the memory, recalling how her lord father had remained by her side for the remainder of that evening, despite her mother's frequent looks of scathing disapproval. Together, they had shared a platter of fruits and cheeses, huddled together discussing anything from the way Lord Gyles seemed to never cease his coughing fits, to how her own lady mother seemed to be paying particular attention to a newcomer that Sabrynna did not recall having seen in court ever before. He wore a well-tailored doublet, black in color, with a plum hued cloak draped over his right shoulder, and although the man carried himself as though he were someone of great importance, Sabrynna somehow knew that he was not.

Regardless of her suppositions regarding his demeanor, however, she was polite as could be when her lord father led her towards them for an introduction, the curtsy she gave the very picture of feminine grace that would make her mother smile with pride. His name, her father told her, was Peter Baelish, a man new to the court that her mother believed would bring great value to the Small Council, if given the chance.

Sabrynna recalled that that had been the exact moment she had decided to stop listening to her mother singing this man's praises, and turn her attention to the room at large instead.

Her lord father, of course, had caught on to her inattention almost immediately, a gentle, yet weathered hand coming to rest upon her shoulder as he turned them away from her mother and Baelish in favor of ducking down to whisper in her ear.

"If you wish to roam about freely, dear one, I will make your excuses."

She had seized the opportunity with alacrity, scampering off to the large table that had been laden with food, and securing a piece of cheese and stem of grapes for her own consumption before drifting to the outskirts of the room and selecting a bench near the door in which to take her seat. She was not quite tall enough for her feet to touch the floor, and so while she popped a grape in her mouth and allowed her green eyes to roam about the room and its inhabitants, she found that her feet were able to swing backward and forward in the process. Already, she could see her father ducking down to address her mother—she could see the minute tightening of her mother's ready smile, before she was delivering a curt nod of acknowledgement and turning back to her companions to continue their conversation. But in spite of her fears to the contrary, the Lady Lysa Arryn did not sweep across the room to drag her back to the gathering at large, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she delivered a prayer skyward for whatever of the gods were listening in thanks for her father's quick action.

Always, he seemed to know when she needed companionship, and when she needed solitude, and Sabrynna was never more grateful to him than she was in this particular moment for giving her a reprieve from her lady mother's firm insistence that she play the part of the lady at only six years of age…

Squirming to get further beneath the blankets, Sabrynna felt the now-familiar burning of tears at the corners of her eyes in response to the recollection, one hand lifting to dash them away before she rolled onto her side, and curled into a tiny ball with her knees tucked to her chest. Unbidden, more tears came to follow those she had just wiped away, as though the mere thought of her father had been enough to break the dam that her pride and station had erected to keep them in their place, unshed. And before she knew it, Sabrynna found that her shoulders were shaking with the effort of keeping her sorrow silent, one tiny hand fisting in the furs beside her while she buried her face in the feather pillow beneath her head so that no one would hear her sob.

No matter how she may try to deny it, Sabrynna was unable to deny that the only thing that caused her more pain than her mother sending her away had been that her father had allowed it without a fight…

…

"But why can I not see her now? I want to meet her!" Sansa Stark exclaimed, her brow drawn together in fury at having been forced to endure a bath instead of going down to the Great Hall to introduce herself to her cousin who had been eating with her older brother and half-brother, Jon, "We've been waiting forever for her to come—"

"Has it truly been forever, sweetling?"

"You know what I mean."

Smiling at his eldest daughter's antics, Lord Eddard Stark pulled her to him in a gentle embrace, one large hand smoothing the auburn tangle of her still-damp hair while the other came to rest atop the fabric of her nightgown between her shoulder blades. He had known there would be an uproar once she learned she would have to wait to encounter her newly arrived cousin until the morning, every bit as much as he had known that Sabrynna herself would need her rest before enduring what he believed would be a thousand questions peppered at her at once from the lips of his two daughters. But in spite of that very real awareness, he was all but powerless to deny that he admired his girls for their enthusiasm.

They had spoken of little else but their cousin's arrival in the past week, and he felt that such eagerness might serve to temper what was surely an understandable sense of apprehension Sabrynna might possess in the wake of being sent to a strange land at a moment's notice…

"When can we see her tomorrow?" Sansa inquired, blue eyes shining with impatience as she tilted her head back to peer up at her lord father, her arms still wound tightly around his waist, "Will it be soon? Or will we have to wait again?"

"It will be soon, dear one," Eddard assured, sparing one more rub of the hand against his seven year-old daughter's back, and then turning her so that he could give her a gentle nudge towards her bed, "The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner it will be, as well."

"Can I meet her before Arya?"

"Sansa—"

"Please, Father, please! Arya always ruins everything, and I do not want her to ruin this as well!"

"Your sister has every right to meet your cousin as you do, Sansa," Lord Stark countered, watching as his eldest girl clambered into her bed, and moving forward so that he could secure the furs around her small frame as he always did, every night since she was old enough to have a bed of her own, "And I am certain your cousin will adore you both."

"But Father—"

"No buts, sweetling. Get some sleep. Sabrynna will be waiting to meet you in the morning, of that I am most certain."

Seemingly satisfied with his reply, Sansa managed a brief nod for her lord father's benefit before settling down beneath the warmth of the furs upon her bed, her eyes squeezing shut as she burrowed into the mattress and prayed for sleep to find her quickly. Despite her father's words, she planned to be up at first light, dressed and in the great hall waiting for her cousin before Arya had even woken.

She would not let her little sister win their cousin over before she got a chance to do the same, herself…

…

"How are the girls? Did they fight being put to bed?" Catelyn asked her lord husband, suppressing a smile as she realized he was almost immediately nodding in confirmation of her inquiry, "I cannot say I am surprised."

"They are eager to meet Sabrynna. I believe it was wise we did not tell Arya that Robb and Jon already had the chance."

"And Sansa? How did she take the news?"

"With protests, and impatience, but she went to her bed gracefully enough," Lord Eddard answered, watching as his lady wife took great care to brush her long auburn hair—hair that matched her first born daughter's and her niece's with startling clarity—and moving so that he might sit upon the edge of their bed to remove his boots before going on, "I daresay Arya would have simply barged her way into Sabrynna's chambers the moment she knew the truth."

Sharing a laugh with her husband as she replaced the comb upon the table beside their bed, Catelyn gingerly swung her legs up onto the mattress and pulled the furs up to cover them, her back leaning against the wooden headboard as she watched Eddard prepare for bed, himself. Every movement was methodical—careful, as though he feared disrupting some unmentionable equilibrium that existed between them. She knew that he would eventually discover how her mood had shifted since he had last seen her, just prior to her departure down to the yard to wait for Sabrynna's arrival. But even in the face of that anticipation, Catelyn was not entirely prepared for Eddard to question her so suddenly, his frame freezing on the edge of the bed as he seemed to regard his next move for a moment before speaking aloud.

"What troubles you, Cat?"

"Is it that obvious that something does?"

"Only to one who knows you as well as I," Eddard replied, one hand seeking his lady wife's so that their fingers might link together before he gave her palm a gentle squeeze, "I would not have you trouble yourself over secrets kept between us, my love. You know that you may tell me anything—"

"Even if what I wish to tell you is not yet founded in proof?"

"Even then, my lady. You know that."

Watching her husband as though determined to ferret out some sort of hidden duplicity, or condition that would alter his assertion as soon as she said the words that plagued her, Catelyn pursed her lips until she had gathered the wherewithal to reply. In truth, it was only the strength of Eddard's hand clasping her own that gave her courage to speak, then, when at her very core she prayed with all her might that what she had seen would not ring true. She wished that she had never noticed, or that her curiosity had not gotten the better of her and caused her to glance at the child's wide eyes for a moment longer than she might have, ordinarily. But the fact remained that she had allowed herself to stare, so shocked she was at the gaze that reflected back at her, shrewd for its years, and skeptical already, despite a lack of experience that she was sure her own sister had insisted upon for the child's safety.

Now, try though she might to do otherwise, Catelyn could not shake the lingering trepidation that her suspicion brought to the forefront of her mind in spite of how she wished she could ignore it altogether.

"The child's eyes," She began, silently cursing the trembling of her voice, and averting her gaze to where her hand still rested within the protective shelter of Eddard's much larger one before going on, "They are not Lysa's, or Jon's, Ned—"

"Perhaps she takes after your lady mother, Cat. Your father always spoke of how her eyes could change shade with her moods," Ned countered, attempting a half-smile for his wife's benefit, only to find that she hardly spared him a glance before she was speaking once again.

"Sabrynna's eyes never wavered from the green they bore upon her arrival."

"Perhaps it was the greyness of the day making them appear in such a way, my lady."

"The dreary nature of the weather would not make them look so familiar," Catelyn stated, suppressing a shiver as she felt Ned move a bit closer to her on the bed, and found herself leaning almost instantly into the strength presented by his side, "I would know them anywhere, and yet I cannot believe this means what I fear it must."

"What do you believe it means, my lady?" Eddard asked, the gentle pressure of his wife's body leaning against him giving him leave to feel the slight trembles she gave, as though the prospect of whatever thought had come into her mind were truly frightening enough to warrant such a reaction on its own, "She is your sister's child. The shade of her hair speaks to that on its own."

"She is Lysa's child, yes. Of that there can be no doubt. But it is not that likeness that trouble me."

"Then what is it, Cat? You must tell me, or I cannot have a chance at helping you."

"It is something that cannot leave this room, Ned. Not until we find the means of gaining proof one way or another," Catelyn began, finally able to force her gaze to meet that of her lord husband as she silently implored the gods to give strength enough to her words that he would know the depth of the trust she had given him with her disclosure.

"Sabrynna is Lysa's daughter, as you said. But I do not believe Lord Jon Arryn is her father."

If the shock upon her lord husband's features were any indication, Catelyn knew that Eddard had been about as prepared to receive such information as she had been when she first looked her niece in the eye. And if what she suspected was, in fact, true, she supposed that might have been reason enough for Lysa to send her only daughter to the north a mere day after her son was born…

…


	3. First Encounters

The next morning, Sabrynna ventured back to the same hall she had dined in the night prior with Robb and Jon, her hand clutched in Septa Mordane's to guide her way, though she felt she might have been just fine on her own. She did not dare say such a thing though, for risk of offending her aunt and uncle, when they had done nothing but allow her into their home despite having children of their own to care for already.

That, and the Septa appeared to have a sternness about her that would not bend with being tested by a mere child, though she had done nothing but smile and welcome Sabrynna to her home thus far.

Regardless of her feelings over the older woman, however, Sabrynna found herself following along rather readily in her wake as she led her towards the Great Hall once again, their steps moving with such purpose that it was difficult for her to drink in the characteristics of her new home now that daylight had come. In truth, she was more than a bit disappointed that she had not yet been granted the chance to explore Winterfell, particularly as she had often been known to be found wandering around King's Landing, learning of the existence of secret passages and rooms that had been a mystery to her only the day before. But before she could fully devote herself to her own disappointment, such as it was, she found herself startled out of her internal musings by the rapid thuds of small feet moving against the stones of the floor, before a tiny frame had hurled itself against her, dark hair in disarray as a pair of skinny arms wound about her waist.

"You're here, you're here, you're here!"

"I suppose I am," Sabrynna remarked, one auburn brow quirking at the small form that had just collided with her, her surprise only growing as the waifish figure drew back a bit and revealed itself to be a girl with warm brown eyes, and an eager smile, "And you are?"

"Arya!" The girl supplied, her enthusiasm contagious no matter how Sabrynna still harbored unease over her current situation, "My mother says we're cousins. That you're her sister's daughter, and you've come here to live with us for good."

"She didn't say for good, you idiot. It might be only for a little while."

"Sansa! Think what an impression your words make upon our guest!" The Septa exclaimed, the suddenness of her words causing Sabrynna to jump in surprise, though some part of her knew a rebuke was only too likely in light of the older girl—Sansa's—clipped tone when addressing her sister, "You should apologize to your cousin for appearing so rude."

"Truly, Septa, it is alright."

"It is most certainly not alright, my dear girl. You are our guest and we all ought to behave accordingly."

"I am sorry," Sansa managed, a flush adorning her cheeks as she stepped forward to get a better look at her cousin without appearing rude, "It is a pleasure to meet you, cousin."

"Likewise," Sabrynna replied, a shy grin spreading across her features as she regarded the young woman before her, marveling at the distinct differences between herself, and Arya Stark as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. In truth, what she saw before her contrasted so greatly with the image she had concocted in her mind, having always believed in her limited years that the similarity between siblings was a given, after spending so much time together in the same home. But before her now stood two young girls who were as far apart in likeness as night and day—a quality that intrigued her far more than she dared to admit, and prompted her smile to widen just a bit before she found the gentle pressure of Arya's hand taking her own in order to lead her towards a table laden with bread, honey, eggs, and bacon, amongst other things.

"Come and eat! I can show you everything there is to know about our home after!"

"But we have our lessons after," Sansa protested, her blue-eyed gaze shooting almost immediately to their Septa, who had the grace to smile, and shake her head in gentle denial before she spoke.

"Your lady mother has decided that lessons would be rather useless today, if you are both more attentive to the presence of your young cousin."

"So we don't have to sit cooped up in that dusty old room if we don't want?"

"Arya!"

"That is correct," The Septa agreed, her expression turning more serious as she glanced back at the younger of the Stark daughters, and chastised her for her apparent loathing of her studies, "But you will not refer to your duty in such a manner again, young lady, or you will take your lessons while Sansa shows your cousin the castle herself."

In response to such a prospect, Sabrynna found herself suppressing a laugh as she watched Arya clamping her mouth shut almost as readily as she had opened it, her steps slowing just a bit as she continued to lead her cousin toward the table. Sabrynna went eagerly enough, her stomach giving a small rumble of protest that made Arya look back at her and grin widely. And, before she knew it, she was seated between her two cousins filling her plate with anything her hands could reach, a soft smile spreading over her lips as Sansa leaned close to her ear so that she could whisper her own plans for their afternoon without risk of her younger sister hearing.

"When you're finished allowing Arya to drag you around, perhaps my lady mother will allow us to go to the Sept. It always looks so beautiful with the afternoon sunlight coming in through the windows."

Ducking her head quickly so that her cousin would not see her attempts at holding back a small laugh, Sabrynna allowed her attention to stray to the plate before her daring to reply, her fingers tearing at a small piece of bread while she simultaneously forced herself to meet Sansa's gaze head on once more. The eagerness on her young cousin's face was enough to have her smiling once again, their shoulders bumping together in camaraderie before they settled in to break their fast in earnest. And although she still could not entirely reconcile her situation in the recesses of her mind as yet, Sabrynna found that she was able to allow herself to enjoy a simple meal with her cousins, regardless, the sneaking suspicion that she would more often than not wind up the mediator between these two vastly different siblings providing more amusement than dread.

At such a tender age, Sabrynna could never have been aware of exactly how well her own characteristics were suited to do exactly that…

…

Some hours later, Sabrynna found herself perched next to Arya on one of the windowsills overlooking the training yard, her attention riveted upon Robb, Jon, and her uncle's ward, Theon Greyjoy as they practiced at archery down below. Already, she had seen the wistful look in the eyes of her youngest female cousin. She had seen the eager position of her tiny frame, indicating that she would have liked nothing more than to be down there in the yard alongside them. And before she knew it, she was turning her eyes to Arya, instead, a shy smile stealing over her lips as she leaned forward just enough to whisper in her ear.

"I could practice with you, if you like."

"You can't shoot a bow!"

"Ah, but I can. A little, anyway," Sabrynna confessed, a sly smile causing the corners of her mouth to curl up as she leaned back against the sill, and glanced back down at where her cousins and Theon were at work in the yard, "I used to slip down to the training yard in the Capital when the Septa wasn't looking to watch the men train."

"No one ever caught you?" Arya mused, eyes wide as saucers as she averted her eyes from the training below to look at her cousin with her full attention, "How is that possible?"

"My lady mother wondered the same thing."

"And you actually used a bow?"

"I tried," Sabrynna said, suppressing a laugh at the memory of her first time holding such a weapon, and the subsequent fear she had felt when her lord father had discovered her in her attempts at the yard. Try though she might to think of any possible reason for how he found her, bow in hand and directing a scowl as fierce as he had ever seen at the arrow as it whizzed clear past its mark and landed in the sand a few feet away, she was unable to fool him, and although she had feared he would be upset with her for her deceit, the Lord Jon Arryn had only regarded her for a moment in silence before he pulled her to him for an embrace, with laughter echoing between them, "I wasn't very good, at first, but when my father found me—"

"He put a stop to it."

"No. He said if I was going to play with a weapon, I had best learn to use it properly."

"So he taught you?" Arya inquired, awe apparent in her tone as she peered at her cousin, a newfound admiration forming in her mind, though Sabrynna was shaking her head with a half-smile upon her lips.

"He found someone discreet to do the same, and saw to it that my lady mother believed I was closeted away with my lessons."

"Are you good?"

"Moderately."

"Do you think I can be as good as you?"

"If you work at it," Sabrynna assured, her brow furrowing for a moment as she realized the feeling she was experiencing in the wake of Arya's obvious enthusiasm was akin to sheer joy, "And if we find a way of doing so without getting ourselves into trouble."

"How are we going to do that?" Arya demanded, hopping down from the windowsill, and fixing her cousin with a look that was so intent it almost persuaded the older girl to laugh, "How are we going to get away from Septa Mordane, and Sansa, and all the rest without a soul knowing?"

"You leave that to me," Sabrynna advised, getting down from the sill, herself, and finding herself surprised as Arya hurled her skinny arms around her waist and squeezed her with all the strength she had in her.

Though she was loath to risk the ire of her aunt and uncle, Sabrynna realized then that she would never have the fortitude to deny Arya anything, despite having known her for all of three hours, at most…

…

The Lady Catelyn stood quietly at the door of the Sept while she watched Sansa and her young niece move quietly around the place, their auburn hair mingling on occasion as they bowed their heads close together to speak in hushed whispers. In her hand, she clutched a half-written missive to her sister, the words upon the page every bit as tentative as her observation of the girls moving about the Sept. Just last night, she had decided to write to Lysa, questioning her on her decision to send her only daughter to Winterfell, and for the truth of the young girl's birth. But here, in the light of day, and beneath the many colored facets of the sun's rays that streamed through the Sept's windows, she was suddenly unsure of the wisdom behind such an inquiry, her brow furrowing as she averted her eyes from the girls once more, and directed them back to the scroll held tightly in her hand.

If the wrong person read this letter before Lysa could dispose of it properly, it could spell ill for not only herself, and her sister, but the young girl who had been entrusted into her custody, as well.

In spite of her very real fears regarding the nature of her suspicion, Catelyn was not entirely surprised at the prospect, in its base nature, her mind travelling back to her own childhood as easily as though it had only been yesterday that she played in the summer sun with her sister, her brother Edmure, and the young boy her father had taken in to become like one of their own. Even then, she knew what it meant when her sister could scarcely take her eyes away from the boy—she knew what it meant when she followed him everywhere he went, despite the fact that he paid her very little attention at all. And although she still felt more than a little reluctance to consider such a thing possible, and of her very own sister, no less, Catelyn became surer of her thoughts the more she watched Sabrynna in her home.

The girl was lovely, of course, there could be no denying that, with her Tully-red hair, and vibrant green eyes, so much more expressive than her lady mother's had ever been. But though she appeared graceful enough to have Sansa taking to her with relative ease, their chatter still hushed, but visibly animated, even at this distance, there was something in the way the girl held herself that spoke of a sharp awareness beneath the ladylike smiles, and the gentle way with which she executed her movements.

It was something Catelyn knew no girl of eleven should possess, and yet something she highly suspected was entirely outside of the scope of her power to have prevented, even if she had wanted to try.

She did not fault the girl, of course. Not truly, though she would have been a liar to pretend her first thought after her presumed discovery was of the shame it would bring her sister if the secret ever came to light. Already, she had seen the way in which a child born in shame could impact a family, though she had always done her best to keep her intolerance for Jon Snow hidden from her lord husband, knowing it would not win any battles no matter how hard she may fight. But this girl was still her blood. Her sister's child. She was certainly no threat to her own children's standing in the world.

Perhaps that would have to be enough to allow her to show the girl more kindness than she knew she would ever give Jon Snow, even if the Others came to take her for their own.

With such a thought in mind, Catelyn moved from her place at the back of the Sept, her fingers curling inward towards her palm until the bit of parchment she had written upon folded in upon itself in response. Slowly, so as to not disturb the conversation of the girls a mere few feet away, she moved towards a nearby candle, extending the hand that held the parchment until its corner hung within a hairsbreadth of the flame flickering in response to a soft gust of wind. Almost immediately, the corner of the letter caught the flame, its heat spreading until it began to curl and blacken at the edges while she watched. Soon the fire had eaten half of the way up the parchment's length, allowing Catelyn to drop it into the small bowl that had been placed beneath the candle to catch the drippings from its wax. In silence, she watched until the parchment had curled in upon itself completely, blackening and dissolving until it was nothing more than ash.

As soon as she turned from the candle, and faced the interior of the Sept once again, Catelyn found that the girls had begun to make their way back towards her, arm in arm as they moved towards the doors at her back. Even without being privy to their conversation, it would take a blind woman to miss that Sansa already appeared to think the world of her young cousin, her blue eyes shining with a happiness that Catelyn had rarely seen them hold, and certainly not when she spent time with Arya. And before she even realized it, she knew in her heart that she would not send any sort of inquiring letter to Lysa in King's Landing, the prospect of her first-born daughter's happiness outweighing her own trepidation and curiosity, at least for now.

The thought seemed sufficient enough to persuade her to feel more at ease, for the time-being, her eyes meeting her daughter's while a smile spread across her lips at the sight of the obvious happiness in Sansa's expression. Almost immediately, Sansa was dropping her cousin's arm in favor of hurrying towards Catelyn, her slender arms wrapping around her lady mother's waist while she tilted her head back to peer up at her with blue eyes wide and shining as she spoke.

"Do you know what we prayed for, Mother?"

"What is it, sweetling? What did you pray for?"

"That the gods would allow Sabrynna to stay here, in Winterfell, forever," Sansa confessed, her gaze drifting back to her green-eyed cousin so that she could share her sweet smile with Sabrynna as well, "It's everything I've ever wanted, Mother, truly! It'll be like having a sister—"

"You already have a sister, silly girl," Catelyn admonished, tempering her words with a soft smile as she looked between the two girls, and recognized the gentle familiarity of Sabrynna's own faint grin that bore such a remarkable resemblance to Lysa's as a girl in that particular moment, "But I am certain the three of you will grow to be as close as I was with my own sister, in time."

Seemingly pleased by her words, Sansa pulled away from her lady mother's embrace, and resumed her walk to the doors of the Sept with her cousin arm in arm, their conversation striking up again easily enough while Lady Catelyn followed behind them. For the briefest of moments, Catelyn found herself startled as she realized she might very well have been looking through a mirror into the past, watching herself and her lady sister partaking in the same activity that Sansa and Sabrynna were, now. And although she could not deny her happiness at the prospect of her eldest girl having found a friend and confidante, Catelyn also found herself wondering what new tensions would arise between Sansa and Arya now that their newcomer seemed to have chosen a side.

The gods only knew that if her youngest girl felt that her cousin had chosen Sansa over her, there would be no peace in the Great Keep for a fortnight, at least…

…

"Don't talk about her like that," Jon ordered, sending what he hoped was an impressive glare towards Theon Greyjoy, while he simultaneously folded both arms against his chest, "You have no right—"

"No more than you, Snow. Or have you forgotten she is not truly your cousin?"

"She is as good as."

"The Lady Stark is not your mother," Theon corrected, smug self-assurance etched so very plainly upon his features as he stepped a bit closer to his would-be adversary, and lifted a brow as though daring Jon to defy his next words, "And Sabrynna is the daughter of the Lady Stark's sister."

"That does not matter."

"Oh, but I think it does."

"How?"

"She will never call you cousin."

"And how would you know that?" Jon spat, defiance coloring his tone as he straightened his spine, and did what he could to prevent his disappointment over Theon's advantage in height from becoming apparent in his expression.

"That's easy, Snow. I am smarter than you will ever be."

Before Jon was even fully aware of it, he had launched himself at Theon with enough force to bowl him backward and knock him to the ground. The act was soon rewarded by the sound of a sharp crack—proof that the back of the Greyjoy lad's head had connected with the floor beneath him. But just as he had curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist to connect with Theon's jaw, Jon found the pressure of a hand on his shoulder freezing him in place, his eyes widening as he jerked his head around and found himself face to face with Robb.

"What's Theon done now?" The heir to Winterfell inquired, ignoring the almost immediate protest from his father's ward, and hefting Jon to his feet so that he could get between them before Theon could retaliate. Though he was barely eleven himself, already he felt compelled to keep the peace between them, a task which was remarkably difficult considering Theon's temperament and how often it clashed with Jon's, on its own. But no matter how many times he had to come between the two that he regarded as brothers, though they did not share his blood, Robb would never have traded any of those moments for all the wealth of the Seven Kingdoms combined.

Or he would not have, until he heard the reason behind Jon's most recent decision to go to blows with Theon rather than discuss things as men should.

"He said Sabrynna would never think of us as anything more than dirt beneath her feet after growing up in the Capital."

"Let him say what he says, Jon. You and I know that could never be true."

"But—"

"I wouldn't argue with him, Snow. He'll be lord one day, and I wouldn't put it past him to have you out on your ass for disobedience," Theon sneered, taking advantage of Robb's position shielding him from any more of Jon's attacks to make his retort, though he had the good graces to assume a more composed expression when Robb's attention turned to him, and startled him with a glare before he spoke.

"If you are so concerned with staying here, Greyjoy, perhaps you should not mistreat my cousin."

In the wake of such an assertion, the trio of young men remained silent for the briefest of moments, each one regarding his companions with the slightest bit of wariness as though they truly feared a retaliation. But as it so often did in the squabbles that did arise between them, the tension that had risen up momentarily had abated, the sound of Robb's laughter breaking the silence first, while Theon and Jon joined in not long after.

For the moment, at least, they could abandon their troubles and anything that might cause offense in favor of simply enjoying their youth.

They knew, after all, that winter was coming, and this moment of simplicity would not last forever.

…


	4. Plots and Schemes

"You seem rather lonely," A voice stated, the sound rather effectively breaking Sabrynna out of her silent musings, and causing her to turn to face the source of the intrusion with one auburn brow raised in silent question, "Homesick already?"

"Would it be so strange if I was?"

"Perhaps not," The owner of the voice—a boy that appeared no older than Sabrynna, though the faint hint of a smile he wore spoke of a youth that would fade far more slowly than his looks ever would, "Though if I were forced to live my life in the Capital I might be less sorrowful about leaving it than you appear to be."

"And why might that be?" Sabrynna inquired, fully aware that the proper thing to do would be to formally introduce herself to this boy, despite the fact that she knew full well who he was without the luxury of such a thing taking place. She had seen him before, when she was with Arya, watching the goings on in the training yard below where they stood. But in spite of how she could practically envision her lady mother chastising her for abandoning her courtesies, Sabrynna found that she was far more intrigued at the prospect of exactly how long it would take for this boy to take the liberty of making introductions, himself…something he did not seem to have a desire to do, if the way he eyed her curiously for a moment before deciding to reply were any indication.

"Everything I've heard makes it sound like the worst place on earth. Seems to me if that is true, you have made a lucky escape coming here."

"And you? Have you made a lucky escape?"

"I've been here all my life."

"Only you haven't," Sabrynna teased, one corner of her mouth twitching and belying her amusement as she watched the boy's eyes widen for only a moment before he was able to stop it, "Unless what I am told is a lie."

"What have you been told, my lady?"

"That you are the son of a fierce lord."

"You must tell me the name of your story-teller. I would give them my thanks for putting it so kindly," The boy said, aware of the auburn-haired girl's answering smile, and using that as a means for justifying his step closer towards her, "What else have you been told?"

"Do you truly wish to know?"

"If I did not, I would not have asked."

"Very well, if you must insist," Sabrynna began, aware of the weight of the boy's eyes upon her, and sending a silent prayer to the gods that she would not flush under that gaze, and ruin her attempts at appearing self-assured, "I have been told that you and I are very much alike."

"Oh?"

"Indeed."

"Would you tell me how?" The boy inquired, something almost akin to bitterness passing across his expression, before he had once again carefully schooled it into a mask of mere curiosity. Somehow, Sabrynna knew she ought to choose her next words carefully, for she stood on the knife's edge resting between continuing the teasing that had risen up between them, and actually risking causing her uncle's ward undue offense. And so it was that she found herself allowing her green eyes to rest upon his features with what she hoped would be nothing but the gentleness that her lady mother had tried so tirelessly to teach her while she replied.

"We appear to have been sent from our homes to live here against our will."

"So you do know who I am."

"Of course. I would hate to leave a poor impression upon my aunt and uncle by remaining ignorant of their home and those who live here."

In response to her remark, Sabrynna found herself pleased to note that her newfound acquaintance had chosen to laugh, instead of taking offense, his stance relaxing just a bit as he stepped just a bit closer towards her where she stood gazing out one of the windows in the hall overlooking one of the castle's many hot springs down below. Together, they stood gazing out of that window for a moment in silence, both a little uneasy at the unveiling of their commonality, and yet both simultaneously relieved as well. Although the circumstances of their parting from their homes were entirely different, they were both very well aware of the stinging sense of disappointment over being forced to leave one's family.

If that was not enough to make for the beginnings of a tentative friendship, Sabrynna supposed she did not know what was.

"Do you miss it? Your home, I mean," Theon asked her then, his gaze remaining fixed straight ahead, though Sabrynna was not blind enough to miss the slight waver in his tone, and what it must have cost him to allow it to do so. The boy from the Iron Islands did not seem to be a person who would allow any outward display of weakness in himself, whether or not such a show was well-warranted. And so Sabrynna did as best she could to pretend as though she had not even noticed, her shoulders squared as she dared risk a glance at Theon where he stood beside her, and realized he was watching her with a fervency that somehow gave her courage in spite of her feelings to the contrary.

"I do. But I am told that such a feeling will grow less and less with each passing day."

She could only hope that when her lady mother had told her of such a thing, she had spoken the truth.

…

"You should not be here," Lysa Arryn scolded, albeit half-heartedly, as she allowed the man standing outside of the door to her chambers to enter, before shutting the door behind them both, "I do not yet know when my lord husband will return from his work."

"I will not linger long, my lady. I have only one thing I must ask of you before I depart."

"And what might that be?" Lysa inquired a pout taking shape upon her lips at the thought of losing her companion so quickly, despite her outward appearance of actually wishing him gone, "What is it that you must ask me here, that you could not have brought to me at court?"

"Was she in danger?"

"I—what?"

"Was she in danger?" The man repeated, something not all that different from a genuine sort of concern apparent in his features, though it was quick enough to disappear the moment that Lysa strode over towards him to reach for his hand, "You sent her away as soon as your little boy drew his first breath."

"Jon knows nothing, my love—"

"Then why was your daughter spirited away in the dead of night with scarcely a soul being any the wiser?"

"My daughter," Lysa spat, doing her best to keep her voice low despite the obvious way in which her companion had omitted the truth of the matter between them as easily as one might bat aside an irksome fly buzzing round their head, "If she is only mine, then you have no right to question any decision I make on her behalf."

"As I recall, it has been you making those decisions since before the day she was born," The man replied, grey-green eyes sparking a bit as he spoke, though whether by a mere trick of the flickering candlelight or true anger, Lysa did not know, "Including choosing her father, if I am not mistaken."

"My father chose my husband! Had I been given a voice—"

"You would have chosen the lesser man? You will forgive me, my lady, if I claim to have trouble believing that, even now."

"Perhaps you will believe this," Lysa began, wrenching away from her companion as he made to reach for her hand, and turning so that her back was to him before she spoke again, "My husband is an old man. The years take more and more out of him as they pass on."

"He wears his age with grace."

"Do not mock me. Or am I to believe that when he breathes his last, you do not know of a person who would wish to become the next Lord of the Vale?"

Whatever anger had been in her companion's features faded away all too quickly upon hearing her words, the realization that someone such as herself had managed to find some token of leverage over anyone at all, let alone this man in particular bringing a faint smile to Lysa's lips, and causing her own anger to abate, bit by bit. What he said was true, of course. When Hoster Tully told her she was to wed Jon Arryn, no matter his age, and her elder sister's comparable better fortune in her husband's looks, she had not refused. She had done her duty, despite the knowledge of a child already growing in her womb. A child of another man. Lysa Tully had done what needed to be done, to ensure that both she, and her unborn babe would not be ridiculed for the rest of their days, casting aside the desires of her heart in favor of the more practical path her lord father had set before her. And Jon Arryn, doddering old fool that he was, had always been too preoccupied with his duties as Hand of the King to notice that his own little girl did not resemble him, at all.

In truth, Lysa had hated him for that. The way he doted on the girl, and never seemed to notice that she could not have possibly been his. She was not so foolish as to pretend that this very fact did not keep her safe, of course, for though he was far from a young man, Jon Arryn did still possess the pride of his house and his standing with the king. He would not take kindly to a humiliation of the sort she could put upon him, no matter how much he might have come to love the child, herself. Though pride or no, Lysa still had every reason to believe that the person to feel the brunt of his ire, should the truth come to light, would not be her daughter, but her lover, instead.

She supposed it was that realization that had prompted her to take her lord husband to her bed more willingly than she ever had before, and it was what led her to the decision to send her first-born away as soon as her son joined the world himself.

Regardless of her motives, however, Lysa forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand, every bit as aware of how her companion was watching her as a dog might watch its master when that master dangled meat upon the end of a stick. In moments like these, she knew he did not want her. Not truly, no matter how many times she told him that she would always desire him, above all others. Perhaps that was why she lured him with the power that her lord husband's title could provide. Perhaps it was why she had sent their child away, at the last possible moment after her son's birth.

To spite the man that seemed so capable of easily doing the same to her any chance he had.

"You remain quiet after my offer, my lord. Dare I believe you no longer want the Vale for your own?"

"I do, my lady. But that is a title which belongs to your son, if I am not mistaken," Her lover stated, his words smooth, as always, no matter what he truly felt within his heart at their uttering, "I am not a man to steal from another."

"Are you not?"

"Forgive me. I do seem to have stolen something from several men, on occasion. What I meant was, I am not a man to steal from an infant while he is still at his mother's breast."

"If you mean to mock my son, you can kiss the Vale goodbye," Lysa hissed, her anger once again momentarily outweighing rational sense as she whirled to face her companion with narrowed eyes, "I will not give it to a man who insults my own flesh and blood."

"And yet you would allow me to take what belongs to your boy, and he too small to defend it," The man pressed, skepticism weighing heavily in his tone, despite the yearning for the power that the lady's offer would give him that still lingered beneath the surface, "That hardly seems honorable."

"I did not think you were troubled by such things."

"Whether I am or not, I must pretend to be, for the good of the realm."

"And what must I do? For the realm?" Lysa demanded, taking a step back as her lover made to draw her close once again, and squaring her shoulders as a show of defiance when all she wished to do, in that moment, was to set aside this game and put her time with him to better use, "Must I remain the loyal, doting wife to a man old enough to be my grandfather?"

"You said yourself, the years are taking more out of him than they used to—"

"And my patience is wearing thin. I cannot do this any longer, Petyr. Pretending I love him when you are the one I want," Lysa pleaded, tears stinging at the backs of her eyes as she threw aside her show of cold indifference, and reached to take her companion's hand between her own like a drowning man would seize at a rope to pull himself back to shore, "I cannot do it! I will not do it!"

"You must," The man insisted, freeing one of his hands from Lysa's so that he could brush a stray tendril of auburn hair away from her brow in a show of tenderness that he hoped would be convincing enough to persuade her not to speak his name aloud again when so many may be listening at keyholes and behind the door, "You must never allow anyone to think of you as anything other than a loyal wife."

"I would do so easily if I were married to another man."

"But you are not. Not yet, sweet Lysa. You must bide your time."

"For how much longer? Until I am old and grey as well, and you no longer want me?" Lady Arryn scoffed, pulling away from her lover's touch once again, and using the space between them to walk towards the table resting beside her bed while her fingers worried at the fabric of her gown, "I tell you again, I cannot do it!"

"If you can be patient, my love, you will not have to," Petyr assured, his eyes following Lysa's movements even as he remained where he stood, despite her obvious attempts at fiddling with her clothing to persuade him to join her, "But we must be careful. We cannot act too quickly, without casting suspicion on ourselves by default."

"So you have a plan."

"A plan I cannot disclose, my lady, lest it bring you under the shadow of suspicion as well. Trust only that I will tell you what needs to be done when the time comes. No sooner."

For a moment it almost appeared as though Lysa meant to cast him aside in the wake of his attempt at providing her with what she seemed to desire the most, her silence far more unnerving than it had any right to be, and yet troubling all the same. Her hands had fallen, useless, to her sides, and her blue eyes no longer possessed the fire that they had only moments ago when she chastised him. But almost as soon as he had been prepared to simply turn from her and withdraw quietly back into the hallway, and make his way to his own chambers, he found himself suddenly stunned into motionlessness, while Lysa flung herself into his arms and pressed her lips eagerly against his own.

For now, at least, it appeared he had bought himself a little more time before she would attempt to press him into action against her husband once more, knowing that that particular time, he would be forced to give in, instead of holding her off as he had been these last years…

…

A week after her arrival in Winterfell, Sabrynna found herself seated in the godswood that her uncle had brought her to on her second night there when sleep had refused to find her, a shiver prickling its way down her spine despite her fervent hopes that by now she might have grown accustomed to the stillness of this place, and the weight of the weirwood tree's eyes upon her back. It would take more than a mere few days, she supposed, before she was truly comfortable in the godswood that the Lord Eddard Stark seemed to revere so fervently. But the more she sat by herself, with nothing but the occasional whisper of the wind through the weirwood's leaves and the ripples that same wind caused to roll over the glassy surface of the pool at her feet, the more she grew to believe that this place held her best chance at keeping true to the promise she had made Arya not long after her arrival.

She would not fail her cousin, and despite the unease that still plagued her the longer she remained seated beside the pool, Sabrynna knew that she had found a means of avoiding that fate entirely far more quickly than she might ever have dreamed.

A smile stole over her features at the thought, her torso bending at the waist so that she could lean down to place her hands against the softness of the leaves and the earth beneath them. It was almost comforting, feeling the dirt slip between her fingers, though she knew she would only bring suspicion to her motives if she returned to her aunt and uncle trailing dirt and leaves with every step she took. And no matter what happened, she would not have them discovering her attempts at deceiving them so soon after allowing her into their home.

Truly, she did not wish to offend them, or betray their kindness, and yet she would have been a fool to pretend that the prospect of teaching Arya to shoot a bow delighted her far more than she might have hoped.

Determined to keep that thought at the forefront of her mind, Sabrynna forced herself to rise and begin the trek back to the keep before her absence might be noticed, a soft smile playing about her lips as thoughts of how she might bring her cousin to this place and avoid detection plagued her mind. It would have been a lie had she said she did not enjoy these little intrigues—trying to plan the specifics of something that she ought to have steered clear of no matter what. And although she doubted she would ever truly be free of the guilt that hovered at the back of her mind as a result, Sabrynna was certainly not going to allow it to force her to break a promise.

A sudden gust of wind rather effectively pulled her from such thoughts as quickly as she had become mired down in them, it seemed, its chill prompting her to fold both arms across her chest in an effort to keep warm. Hunched in upon herself, Sabrynna hurried towards the great keep as quickly as she could, the lure of the warm fire she knew to be waiting for her in her chambers only encouraging the pace of her movements. All too suddenly, she found herself putting aside her plans to get Arya to the godswood to begin their training, and giving priority to simply obtaining some warmth as quickly as she could, having forgotten to take a cloak with her when she departed the keep earlier that day. She supposed it had more to do with how unaccustomed she was to the climate of the north, after having spent so long in the heat of King's Landing than it did a simple-minded forgetfulness worthy of disdain. But no matter the motive behind it, Sabrynna sincerely hoped she would never be so foolish again, a shiver roaming over her frame as she hurried beneath the archway leading into the great keep, and found herself hailed by a familiar voice as she did so.

"And just where have you been, I wonder?"

Freezing in place, Sabrynna did what she could to calm the erratic racing of her heart over having been so effectively broken from her thoughts and brought back to the present, her green eyes flicking toward the source of such an interruption, while one auburn brow lifted in silent inquiry. Of all those that she might have expected to be waiting to question her whereabouts, she had to admit that the thought that it would be Jon Snow had never crossed her mind. But for all her shock, Sabrynna could not deny that she was pleased it was him, and not another, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she allowed him to fall into step beside her before she replied.

"Visiting the godswood."

"Did the gods have much to say to you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Sabrynna quipped, the gentle bump in the side that Jon gave her with his arm provoking a soft laugh as they trooped together back towards the great keep, "I was not aware that what was said in prayer was to be shared with anyone who would listen."

"That would be true, if I believed you were praying."

"Doubting my integrity already, cousin?"

"Hardly," Jon replied, a curious sensation of warmth stealing through his chest at the utter lack of hesitation Sabrynna had shown in acknowledging their relation to one another, though he felt he had known from the start that she would not shy away from him or the nature of his birth, no matter her own noble upbringing as daughter of the Hand of the King, "But you were born and named in the light of the seven."

"Does that fact alone require me to worship solely in a Sept?"

"It might make it more convincing if you did."

"Perhaps I simply wished for a bit of piece and quiet," Sabrynna suggested, unable to resist the tug at the corners of her mouth that drew her lips into a faint smile, no matter how hard she tried, "Is that so strange?"

"When you are the one seeking it? Yes," Jon teased, laughing rather loudly in response to the almost immediate huff of exasperation his remark earned him, and dodging the retaliatory swat that his cousin aimed at his shoulder before attempting to explain himself further, "You do not strike me as someone to relish solitude."

"What do I strike you as, Jon?"

"A girl with something she is trying to hide."

"Jon!"

"What? You asked me what you struck me as, and I told you!"

"I never expected you to be so bold in your reply," Sabrynna stated, a furrow marring her brow as she risked a glance up at her cousin, and marveled at how easily he had come to the truth, though she was still unsure about giving him the victory just yet, "You surprise me."

"If you confide in me, I might be able to help you, you know," Jon pressed, opting for bold action instead of what might have been the wiser course in allowing the girl he still barely knew to keep her secrets, if she wished, "Particularly as I might have an idea of what you are trying to do already."

"How would you—"

"I spoke with Arya, Sabrynna. She could hardly contain her excitement."

"She—she told you," Sabrynna stammered, a pink flush adorning her cheeks as she stopped walking, and averted her gaze to the dirt of the yard at her feet, "Have you—have you told Lord Eddard, or Lady Catelyn?"

"No."

"No?"

"Nor will I," Jon assured, startling Sabrynna by reaching for her hand and taking it in his own so quickly that she found her eyes snapping up to meet his almost immediately in response, "You have my word on that."

"I would not wish to risk you suffering the consequences of our actions as well if we are discovered," Sabrynna protested, a sudden bolt of trepidation passing through her, despite how pleased she felt at Jon's apparent willingness to lend his assistance where he could, "I cannot—Jon, I cannot ask this of you."

"Then it's a good thing I am offering, and not permitting you to ask."

"Is there anything I could say to dissuade you?" The young woman asked, her gaze travelling downward until it rested upon where Jon's hand still held her own, her teeth worrying at her lower lip for only a moment before she was redirecting her attention back to her cousin as he replied every bit as firmly in denial of her inquiry as she had expected.

"Nothing at all," Jon said, giving Sabrynna's hand a small squeeze, before relinquishing his hold upon it, and turning his attention back to the task of returning to the great keep before his lord father sent one of the guardsmen out looking for them, "Someone has to ensure Arya is trained properly, after all—"

A smile spread across his lips in anticipation of his cousin's reaction to such teasing words, and for her part, Sabrynna did not disappoint, her steps grinding to a halt as her grey-green eyes widened for only a moment, while comprehension dawned upon her features as well. The only indication Jon was given regarding her impending retaliation was the tell-tale pursing of her lips as her wide-eyed look of surprise turned more calculating, and her entire body seemed to tense in the same moment. But even with some warning, Jon found that he relished the prospect of the soft growl of displeasure Sabrynna made before charging after him and chasing him around the yard, their laughter and shouts echoing off of the stone walls until even the guards were laughing along with them.

No matter how often Sabrynna relived the memory of that particular afternoon later in life, she would always remember the easy nature of Jon's smile, and the relief that came inherent in the acceptance of her presence in Winterfell that he had conveyed through his offer alone.

…


	5. Secrets and Tales

Bird song echoed through the godswood as Arya stood, bow in hand, her eyes staring so hard at the target Jon had hung on one of the lower branches of the weirwood tree that she thought she might never be capable of looking elsewhere ever again. The muscles in her forearms and shoulders were stretched taut, only the slight tremble of her hand upon the bow betraying how draining the work of remaining motionless until she was absolutely certain she could hit her target was. Though she knew she would be going to her bed absolutely exhausted, and sore from the crown of her head, all the way down to her feet, she would have been a liar to pretend she was not overjoyed at the prospect, regardless—

She loved her cousin and her brother more than words could say for giving her this chance, and perhaps that was the reason she was not frustrated by the belatedly suppressed laughter that burst from both of them as she released her arrow and it sailed past the target by a good yard and a half.

"Try again, Arya. This time don't hold the bow taut quite so long."

"But I have to aim!"

"You don't need a long time for that," Jon advised, stepping forward so that he came to rest just a hairsbreadth behind his sister, and lifting both hands to make minor adjustments in her stance as she notched another arrow and prepared to let it fly, "Especially since real targets aren't going to just sit in one place waiting for you to hit them."

"But what if I miss?"

"You're already missing. This will help you get better."

Managing a sharp nod in response to her brother's words, Arya set herself to the task of focusing upon the target once again, this time resisting the urge to hold the bowstring taut until she felt sure of her aim, and releasing it in one swift motion, instead. The arrow still missed the target, though not by nearly as much as it had the time before. And that was enough to have her grinning from ear to ear as she turned back to glance at Sabrynna, and saw with pleasure that her cousin was grinning as well.

"Better. Try again."

"Aren't you afraid someone will catch us?" Arya inquired, her fingers already reaching for another arrow, though her eyes remained fixed upon Sabrynna's features as she waited for her to reply.

"Not at the present, no. And if we keep coming on different days, and at different times, I doubt anyone will."

"You're certain?"

"I am," Sabrynna confirmed, sending her younger cousin what she hoped would be a reassuring smile, before turning to face Jon, and noting that his expression was nothing short of amused, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Oh? Then why are you about to burst from holding back a laugh?"

"What gives you that impression, I wonder?" Jon mused, both arms coming to cross over his chest, while he simultaneously leaned back against one of the other trees in the godswood to regard his cousin for a moment before going on, "I certainly did nothing of the kind."

"Your face told me all I needed to know, Jon."

"Is that so?"

"You have a very expressive face."

In response to his cousin's words, Jon did permit a laugh to break free, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her eyes narrow in obvious suspicion over his mirth. For a moment, he thought she might retaliate in some way, her penchant for allowing his teasing to lead them to numerous dashes around the yard and halls of Winterfell as one sought to chase and catch the other giving him every reason to believe that this particular moment would only bring more of the same. But surprisingly enough, Sabrynna remained silent, green eyes sparkling their amusement all the same before she spoke once more.

"What—no clever remark in retaliation?"

"Not today."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Perhaps."

"Jon, you surprise me," Sabrynna stated, aware of how her cousin was watching her carefully, despite the fact that Arya appeared to be going about her practice with the bow as though the two of them were not even there, "I never took you to be so resigned to defeat."

"And if I do not choose to see it as a defeat? What then?" Jon mused, one brow lifting in silent amusement as he regarded his cousin for another moment of contemplation before going on, "Will you punish me?"

"Never."

"That is a lofty promise."

"And one I intend to keep," Sabrynna assured, sparing a smile for Jon's benefit before she was moving towards Arya, one hand coming to rest upon the girl's slender shoulder to still her movements before she loosed another arrow, "Straighten your back, Arya. Let it do all the hard work for you."

"I almost hit it the last time."

"I know you did."

"I want to see you shoot an arrow," The dark haired girl said, relaxing her arms and back so that the bow and arrow as well dropped to point at the ground so that she could crane her neck around to glance at Sabrynna, instead, "I'll learn better that way."

"You are doing just fine on your own."

"But I want to see you."

Sensing that her young cousin was not about to relent, no matter how hard she may try to persuade her to do exactly that, Sabrynna released a sigh, and managed a slight nod before taking the bow and arrow from Arya's grasp, and stepping into her place while she moved to Jon's side to observe. She had resisted a demonstration like this in hopes that they would succeed in entertaining Arya simply by her own progress with the weapons at hand. But in spite of her best intentions, it seemed that a small show of her prowess was now required, and she could only hope that no matter how long it had been since she had last fired a weapon such as this, that she would not miss her target and cause both her cousins to doubt her, and their purpose here, as well.

In mere moments, Sabrynna had drawn the arrow back until her hand was on a level with her ear and shoulder, a slow breath escaping her lungs as she forced herself to focus upon the target, and not the chirping of the birds, or the soft sound of Arya's feet fidgeting upon the earth behind her. Doing what she could to recall the words her father's man had given to her each time she had prepared to loose an arrow, Sabrynna pursed her lips together and let it fly…

And was pleased when the muted thud that echoed through the air indicated that her arrow had indeed met its mark.

Relaxing in response to her success, Sabrynna turned to face her cousins once more, a half-smile toying at the edges of her mouth as she took in Arya's wide-eyed amazement, and Jon's open amusement, as well. In next to no time at all, it seemed, Jon was stepping forward to take the bow from her, and pluck an arrow from the quiver resting on the ground between them to take a shot of his own. And although it had not been their intent when setting out on this little quest, a good-natured competition soon rose up between them, with Arya's own progress gradually catching up to her brother and her cousin the more they worked together at improving their skill.

Whether anyone knew of their deeds or not, it was a skill they would both likely need in the coming years, in order to stay alive.

…

(Four years later)

"Are the men in King's Landing more handsome than the ones here in Winterfell?" Sansa inquired, startling Sabrynna out of her own internal musings as the two of them walked through the courtyard, linked arm in arm. In truth, the question did not surprise her, as it was no secret that even at her own tender age of eleven, Sansa would grow to be a great beauty, and Sabrynna knew well that she adored the stories and songs of great lords and knights, and the women they loved. Her own fifteenth name day having just passed, Sabrynna rather foolishly thought herself to be wise enough to resist the call of such notions that the tales of old seemed to fill girls' heads with, her own interests residing rather firmly in the acts of perusing as many books as Winterfell's library would allow, and continuing the practice at archery that she had started with Arya and Jon what felt like ages ago in the godswood. But regardless of her own thoughts and feelings on the matter, she was often unable to resist indulging in Sansa's flights of fancy, no matter how old she grew, a faint smile decorating her lips before she squeezed her cousin's arm gently with her own and prepared to reply.

"I seem to notice a few of your very own men that are not displeasing to the eye, Sansa."

"But they're all so old," The younger girl complained, a furrow taking root between auburn brows as she glanced at the people scurrying about their daily tasks around them for a moment, only to return her attention to her cousin as she spoke once more, "And anyway, I was hoping you would tell me about the knights."

"Which knights in particular, I wonder?"

"The handsome ones. The ones with valiant deeds to their names."

"I fear those names may already exist in the songs, dear cousin," Sabrynna stated, suppressing a small laugh in light of how Sansa's face fell almost immediately after her remark, and choosing instead to attempt to explain her meaning a bit more clearly, "The knights, such as they are now, hardly bear comparison with the ones who came before them."

"But surely you must have seen them with your own eyes—at tourneys, and at court—"

"I did."

"Tell me about them, Sabrynna. Please, I swear, I won't mind if they aren't as wonderful as Florian, and the rest," Sansa pleaded, coming to a stop and clutching at Sabrynna's arm as though to lend impact to her words, and entreat her cousin to give in to her desires, "Please."

"You promise you won't be disappointed in me if I fail to impress you with my recollections?"

"Of course."

"Very well then. Where to begin," Sabrynna opined, using her hold upon Sansa's arm to guide them towards the forge so that they might each take a seat upon one of the benches resting before it, "My memory seems to require a bit of time to give you a proper description."

"Sabrynna! You tease me!"

"The last time I saw these men, I was the same age that you are now, Sansa. All I ask is that you are patient," The older girl began, smiling at her young cousin's apparent consternation, and finding herself somewhat pleased that the girl had not taken her remark as an offense, despite her eagerness to hear about the men Sabrynna had once known, "The first knight that comes to mind is Ser Barristan Selmy, I suppose."

"But he's old, too!" Sansa protested, her blue eyes going wide in shock as she looked up at her cousin as though she had taken leave of her senses, "You promised to tell me of the handsome ones!"

"I daresay Ser Barristan is handsome enough, in his own way. And he is Lord Commander of the Kings Guard."

"Is he as skilled a fighter as everyone says he is?"

"He is even better than everyone says he is," Sabrynna countered, recalling how easily the man in question had cut through his opponents in the training yards when she was a girl, "I have never seen a finer swordsman."

"Not even the Kingslayer? Everyone says he is the most handsome man in the seven kingdoms. And the best swordsman, besides."

"And here I believed you would wait for me to mention him, before starting in on your questions," Sabrynna teased, hoping that her words in jest would cover her shock at how quickly Sansa had brought them to a subject she had quite honestly hoped to avoid. Were she to be truthful with herself, she would not have been able to deny Sansa's claim that the man best known for murdering his former king was the best fighter in the realm, and the most physically appealing as well. But no matter the truth behind her cousin's words, Sabrynna could not entirely bring herself to a willing discussion of the man without having sufficient time to prepare her answer as carefully as she could.

Past deeds aside, Sabrynna did not wish for her cousin to see exactly how conflicted her feelings were regarding Ser Jaime Lannister, and she feared that if she were forced to enlighten Sansa about everything she had seen of the man while in King's Landing, that was exactly what would happen.

It was not that she did not think the man worthy of such praise. To the contrary, she knew very well that he was. What truly vexed her was the obvious contrast in his position as one of the kingdom's elite, and the manner in which he behaved to nearly everyone who had the misfortune of crossing him, intentionally or not. She had never done so herself, of course, having only encountered Ser Jaime when she and her father watched the Kings Guard training in the yard, or when she caught sight of him in court. Perhaps it was only because of her lord father that the Kingslayer had never treated her as he had the majority of those in the capital, or perhaps it was simply because she was nothing more than a child.

Either way, Sabrynna did not relish the idea of allowing anyone to see her conflict, and yet she was equally as reluctant to give Sansa the impression that she did not wish to be forthcoming, as well.

"Ser Jaime—he is very skilled at swordplay," She managed, aware that Sansa was watching her carefully, and choosing to look her cousin in the eye, rather than avoid her gaze and rouse her suspicion by doing so, "As good as the rumors say, I believe."

"You have seen him fight?"

"With the other knights, yes."

"Was it like how they describe it in the songs?" Sansa pressed, her enthusiasm returning as Sabrynna managed a faint nod, despite the fact that she knew herself to be exaggerating as a result, "Oh, splendid—"

"He won against every opponent that stood against him."

"And did you speak to him? Afterwards, I mean."

"A few times, yes," Sabrynna confirmed, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall exactly what had been said, and failed entirely. All that she could recall, it seemed, was shrinking into her father's side as Ser Jaime had looked down upon her, his expression unreadable as those green eyes seemed to stare right through her. She recalled barely having the presence of mind to mutter something about how well he fought, having been far too distracted by her own investigation of his appearance to remember her courtesies. Despite his reputation, he truly was a handsome man, with golden hair catching the rays of the sun, and green-gold eyes that were every bit as sharp as his jawline. But of course she could not tell Sansa that without calling to light the very same conflict that she sought to hide, and so she forced her attention back to the moment at hand with all the willpower she possessed, her next words coming more softly, but mercifully not betraying any of her uncertainty as she spoke, "Though admittedly, I was not all that intriguing a conversationalist."

"How so?"

"I only just managed to compliment his skill, and then proceeded to crash into him as my father and I were leaving because I was too busy looking at the ground."

"You didn't!"

"Oh, but I did."

"I do not believe it," Sansa persisted, smoothing her hands over her skirts, and fixing Sabrynna with a look that spoke of such determination it could not help but make her cousin smile, "You have always presented yourself with more grace than you claim to possess, here."

"You are too kind, Sansa. But I was younger, and far more foolish then."

"Did he torment you because of it?"

"Pardon?"

"Did he torment you?" Sansa repeated, curiosity apparent in her expression as she eyed her cousin in anticipation of her reply. Though she was young, she knew enough of Jaime Lannister's reputation to realize that he was nothing like the knights in the songs—not really. But that still did not stop her from harboring some intrigue regarding whether or not he was truly as awful as everyone said, her blue eyes fixing themselves upon Sabrynna's grey-green ones as she waited for her answer as patiently as she could.

"No. No, he did not," The older of the two girls replied, her expression becoming unreadable as she thought for a moment longer, before going on, "He—he reached for my hand, and steadied me so I would not fall."

With as suddenly as the memory resurfaced, Sabrynna found herself startled to realize that her cheeks had begun to flush, one hand lifting to touch the skin as though in doing so she could make it disappear. She knew that the very fact that she was experiencing such a thing was foolhardy. That a woman with even moderately good sense would never allow herself to hold the remotest inklings of curiosity over a man whose honor was beyond repair. But no matter how Sabrynna may try to persuade herself that she was embarrassing herself, and in front of her cousin, no less, she could not seem to make her flush go away, her thoughts only returning to the present as she realized Sansa had reached across the bench to take her hand and give it a squeeze.

"That seems very kind," She said, her tone holding nothing but utter sincerity as she looked at Sabrynna with a gentle smile upon her features, and felt a curious sense of relief when her cousin smiled back at her, in turn. In the four years since she had come to Winterfell, Sabrynna had been like a sister, in Sansa's view, and she was hardly going to find fault with the older girl for a flight of fancy when she herself was known to have a few of her own.

No matter who she dreamt of at the moment, Sansa would never fault Sabrynna for a thing, that much she knew for a certainty.

…


	6. Dark Wings, Dark Words

(Two years later)

The day of the raven's arrival from King's Landing dawned cloudy and chill, giving absolutely no indication that by its end, Sabrynna would be grieving, and not rejoicing in another day well-spent with her cousins. She had risen early, only just managing to summon the patience with which to allow one of the servants to assist in bathing her, dressing her, and brushing out her auburn hair before she was darting off to the great hall to break her fast with Robb, Theon, and Jon. They were meant to practice at archery in the yard today, Lord Eddard having found out about Sabrynna's impromptu lessons with his youngest daughter not long after they had begun. And although both Arya and Sabrynna were still required to spend some time sequestered with the other ladies at needlepoint, they were also occasionally allowed the respite of an afternoon with bow and arrow despite the fact that it flew in the face of tradition to do so. In truth, Sabrynna admired her uncle for permitting such a thing, both for her sake, and Arya's as well.

In that respect, he reminded her very much of her own lord father, far away in the capital, and it only served to make her love him all the more because of it…

The memory of that very morning when Lord Eddard happened upon them brought a smile to Sabrynna's lips as she hurried to the great hall, her eyes catching Robb's almost as soon as she had passed over the threshold, thus allowing her to take in his good-natured smile, along with the impatience that was so prominent in his stance.

"You're late, cousin."

"You would have been as well, had you been forced to accommodate this," Sabrynna quipped, gesturing with one hand to the fall of hair that had slipped over her shoulder, and managing a wry grin before explaining further, "At times, I envy you men, and your shorter hair."

"You should not envy Jon. His hair is almost as long as yours," Theon interjected, a lopsided grin stealing over his features in response to both Sabrynna's answering roll of the eyes, and Jon's almost immediate protest.

"It is not!"

"Nearly," Robb said, sharing a laugh with Sabrynna in response to Jon's apparent consternation, and allowing her to take his former seat at the table, so that she was placed between himself, and Jon, with Theon seated opposite them, "It is a compliment, Jon. Nothing more."

"Forgive me if I do not believe you."

"You should ignore them, Jon. They are only jealous," Sabrynna encouraged, sharing a smile with her dark-haired cousin even in spite of the fact that Robb was giving her a look that could be described as nothing but affronted at her sudden shift in allegiance. It was not long before the predictable tug at a lock of her hair came about in mock retaliation over her remark. And although Sabrynna knew very well that such a thing hardly befit a lady of her age and station any more than it did Robb, she could not help but succumb to the urge to tug at one of Robb's auburn curls, herself, a laugh escaping as her cousin almost immediately nudged her so that she bumped against Jon's side.

"You should not abuse your cousin so, Robb," Theon cautioned, a faint half-grin tugging at one corner of his lips as he watched the antics between the three seated opposite him at the table, and made a show of shaking his head in mock exasperation, "Unless of course you wish to give her more motivation to best you at archery today."

"I may best him, regardless, Theon. That is what happened the last time."

"Perhaps I simply let you win."

"Or that is what you are saying to preserve your pride."

"My pride," Robb echoed, chuckling at the arch expression that Sabrynna wore, and turning to face her more directly before going on, "You are cruel, Sabrynna."

"And still you adore me."

"Do I?"

"I should like to think so," Sabrynna replied, picking at a heel of bread with a sly smile upon her features, and sharing a glance with Theon where he sat across the table from her while elaborating further, "You have simply done a wonderful job of acting like it since my arrival."

"Perhaps I am simply skilled at pretending."

"Or perhaps you enjoy tormenting your cousin a bit too much for your own good."

The sound of Lord Eddard's voice coming from the doorway behind them where he stood with arms crossed over his chest and a faint smile upon his face as he watched the scene unfolding before him. In truth, they reminded him more and more of his own relations with his siblings with each passing day. And no matter how those memories may have inspired sadness, and longing for the simpler days of his own youth, Eddard could not help but feel a sense of gratitude that his own children and his niece seemed to share such a closeness that they seemed incapable of enduring any separation at all.

He knew without a doubt that they would look after one another, even long after he was gone, and that warmed his heart more than they could ever know.

"Where is Arya?" He inquired, then, moving away from the doorway, and stepping closer to the table while simultaneously searching the room for his youngest girl. It was not often that she was not found close to Sabrynna's side, her admiration for the older girl having been no secret almost since the very moment that she had arrived. And the idea of Arya purposefully missing any occasion to share in her cousin's activities was every bit as unlikely as the thought of Sansa suddenly abandoning her tales of knightly valor and heroism—something that might have prompted concern, had he not heard the sound of running footsteps heading into the great hall mere moments after the thought had entered his mind.

"I'm here!" Arya called, skidding into the room beside her father, and glancing at her siblings and her cousin where they sat around the table before peering up at Eddard, with a half-smile upon her face, "Septa Mordane forced me to wait until I had prayed with Sansa in the sept before she allowed me to leave."

"She was right to do so," Lord Eddard told his youngest, pulling her against his side in a one-armed embrace, and stooping so that he could place a kiss upon the top of her head, while she smiled in response, "And just what did you pray for?"

"It's a secret."

Chuckling in response to his daughter's admittedly predictable remark, Eddard removed his arm from its place around her shoulders and nudged her gently towards her elder siblings and cousin, just as Sabrynna rose to give up her own seat so that Arya might take her place. He did not miss the gentle hand that the older girl laid upon Arya's shoulder, or the soft smile upon her features as she placed her own lips upon her cousin's temple before moving to the opposite side of the table to sit beside Theon. In many ways, she had become a sort of second mother as well as a cousin and sister to both of his girls, both under Catelyn's tutelage, and of her own volition as well. And although he was still uneasy over how quickly her own mother appeared to have sent her away, Eddard would have been lying had he said her arrival had not been a blessing in disguise.

What Lysa had willingly given up, his family had gained.

"Robb, you should find Sansa when you are finished in the yard," He instructed, sharing a knowing glance with Sabrynna, before turning his attention to his eldest boy to speak further, "I think she would like to spend time with all of you outside, as well."

"Yes, Father."

"Find Bran and Rickon as well."

"Of course," Robb agreed, watching as his lord father spared one final smile for all of them, before turning and heading back towards the door. The way in which that smile did not fully reach his father's eyes troubled him, of course, though he was loathe to admit to such a thing and risk spoiling the day that lay ahead of both himself, and his cousins, as well. But before he could come to any sort of determination as to whether or not he ought to mention it, regardless, Robb found himself distracted by the gentle nudge of Sabrynna's foot against his shin underneath the table, her grey-green eyes showing nothing but concern as she regarded him for a moment before she spoke.

"Robb, what is it?"

"Nothing. It is nothing, Sabrynna," The eldest of Lord Eddard's true born children assured, reaching across the table between them, and taking hold of her hand in his own so that he might give it a squeeze that he hoped would provide encouragement, and relieve her of her concern at the same time, "We should go to the yard, soon."

"As soon as Arya is finished eating," Sabrynna acknowledged, glancing down at Robb's larger hand as it covered her own, and suppressing a smile as she was once again brought to the realization of exactly how fortunate she was to possess what she did, at such a young age. Although she still struggled with the knowledge that her own parents had sent her away, and she still missed her father, in particular, with every fiber of her being, she would have been a fool to ignore the strength of the bonds she had formed with her cousins, aunt and uncle as a result of her residence in Winterfell these last six years. And even with the letters that did arrive for her from her parents every so often through the years, Sabrynna was unable to deny the reality of her situation.

Lord Eddard, and Lady Catelyn Stark had become more her parents than her own, and she had every reason to believe that such a thing would not be likely to change.

Determined to refuse allowing such a thought to dampen her mood, however, Sabrynna forced her attention back to the present moment, her attention straying towards Arya as her young cousin took another mouthful of bread, and a gulp of water from her glass before wiping her mouth on her sleeve, and squirming out from between her brothers to stand on her own two feet. Her excitement to get on with the day at hand was apparent, though she had not yet said a word to confirm it outright. And half in an effort to persuade her siblings to get moving, themselves, she was soon reaching for Robb's hand and tugging him to his feet, her smile so wide that it was impossible for her brothers and cousin to avoid joining in, as well.

For now, at least, they were all content to enjoy the day at hand, never knowing that something was coming that would change all of their lives in ways they could never comprehend.

…

Eddard Stark watched from the walkway situated above the practice yard while Sabrynna took aim at the target opposite where she stood, and loosed the arrow in the same swift motion he had learned himself when he was under Jon Arryn's care. Applause rang out in response to it hitting its mark, and Sabrynna made an attempt at an appreciative curtsy soon after, though even from his own vantage point, Ned knew she wore a satisfied grin in spite of her attempt to seem modest over her success. And, try though he might to deny it, he was once again brought to the realization that allowing what was transpiring down in the practice yard was far more of a benefit than a potential risk, no matter how incongruous the act may have seemed when compared to years steeped in tradition.

As though it were only yesterday, Ned could recall the very first time he had discovered the impromptu lessons that Sabrynna and Jon had been giving to Arya in secret, the expressions on each one of their faces enough to prompt a faint grin to cross his features, even now. It was apparent that all three of them believed he would have put a stop to it immediately. That they may have even been required to suffer some sort of punishment as a result of their deceit.

The way in which their faces had transformed into open grins, reluctant at first, and then full of enthusiasm and joy not long after once they had discovered his true intentions would be a memory he would treasure until his dying day.

And now, several years later, here they all were, each having improved vastly from their initial skill under their own instruction, and the occasional input of Ser Rodrik, as well. To say anything other than that he was proud of their achievements would have been a lie…and yet, no matter how he might try to distract himself from the troubling sense of foreboding that had plagued him since waking to break his fast, Eddard Stark found that even the sight of the children he loved so dearly at work in the yard below could not entirely assuage his mind.

It was as though some unseen force was determined to plague him until he looked it right in the eye, but not knowing what on earth that force could be, he could never truly be free of it.

The sound of another arrow connecting with its mark appeared to be enough to startle the Lord of Winterfell from such troubling musings, at least for the moment, along with the whoop of pleasure that ensued, and echoed around the yard below. Glancing down, he could see Robb's satisfied grin, just as he witnessed the answering jab that Theon gave in return to the victory, and the almost immediate laughter that his ward's indiscernible remark had provoked. And although the troubling sense of unease never fully left him, he found that he was able to persuade himself to focus on the scene transpiring below him, the sound of more laughter reaching his ears as he realized Bran had managed to join the goings on, and had attempted to fire an arrow as well, only to miss by a long shot.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" He called down in response to the rampant laughter that was echoing through the air after his son's arrow had sailed past its mark, and chuckling just a bit as every one of them gazed up at him in apparent surprise, "Keep practicing, Bran."

Eager to do as he was told, Bran grabbed another arrow from the quiver resting nearby, and positioned it in the bow as Robb had already taught him, aware of the weight of his lord father's attention, though he would not have traded such a thing for the world. His lady mother had often protested over his involvement in such things, claiming that he was too young, yet, to learn the ways of war, and taking lives. But that still did not stop him from coming to the lower bailey whenever he had a chance, regardless, at first only to watch his siblings, his cousin, and Theon at work, and eventually to partake in the act, himself.

After all, ten was a fine enough age to start training to be a man, at least in his own mind, and when he had begged his lord father to allow him to do so, he had not seen fit to deny him his wish.

Of course, that wish seemed a little out of reach, given that he appeared to have failed to strike his target with the release of his second arrow, and he would have been a fool to say that he stood a chance at restraining the soft groan of frustration that escaped, despite the fact that he knew full well what his father's remark would be before he ever spoke.

"Try again, Bran. You're almost there."

"Straighten your spine," Theon advised, his sudden presence at Bran's side causing the young boy to flinch, as his attention had become temporarily riveted upon his father, and Ser Rodrik, who had just approached him, as well. He knew he ought to heed the older boy's advice, particularly as he had witnessed, time and time again, that his father's ward was every bit as skilled with a bow and arrow as he was with a blade. But try though he might to force himself to pay attention, Bran found himself once again allowing his attention to drift back to where his father stood in the covered walkway above the lower bailey, his expression clouded while he listened to Ser Rodrik's words.

"What do you suppose he's telling him?" Bran inquired, watching as Theon turned to glance at the goings on above them, as well, though he did so with much less interest than Bran had done just moments before.

"Nothing good, from the looks of it."

"Do you think something has happened beyond the walls? Is it the wildlings?"

"I doubt it is the wildlings, Bran," Sabrynna assured, coming to stand at her young cousin's side, and ruffling his hair with a great deal of affection before going on, "They have not ventured past the Wall for years."

"Perhaps that is only what they wish for you to think. Perhaps there are wildlings within our own walls, even as we speak."

"Stop, Theon. You're tormenting him."

"I'm not afraid! I want to meet a wildling!" Bran protested, squirming good naturedly against Sabrynna's arm as it looped around his shoulder to pull him against her side, and finding the effort rendered futile as she leaned down to drop a kiss at his brow, instead, "I want to fight one!"

"If you fought a wildling, you would die in a heartbeat."

"I would not!"

"You would," Theon pressed, aware of the sharp observation being given him beneath Sabrynna's gaze, and sending her a wry smile before elaborating further, "You need more practice before you attempt to kill one of them."

"But I'm going to be a soldier! Father said that I could!" Bran insisted, twisting around so that he could look up at Sabrynna directly, as though he was pleading his case directly to her. Almost immediately, her laughter reached his ears, while she simultaneously ruffled his hair once again, and he was forced to squirm away with a smile upon his lips. He would have been blind, even at a mere ten years of age, to miss exactly how protective his cousin appeared to be, of both him, and the rest of his siblings as well. And although he was old enough to have begun to chafe at such protection, he would have been lying had he pretended to not love her all the more for it.

"I am certain you will be the finest soldier that Westeros has ever seen," Sabrynna assured him, watching as Bran beamed from ear to ear in response to her remark, and then allowing her gaze to turn towards Lord Eddard as she realized he had descended from the walkway he had been using to observe their activities so that he could join them, himself. Almost immediately, she could tell something was wrong, the warmth that was usually always present in his eyes when he looked upon all of his children replaced, it seemed, by a grimness that sent a chill racing down her spine. But before she could make any attempt at inquiring as to exactly what had caused such a thing, she found herself forced to remain silent as his grey eyes met hers for only the briefest of moments, before they turned their gaze upon Robb, and her uncle gave voice to the reason behind his sudden shift in demeanor before any of them could ask.

"The men have found a deserter from the Night's Watch," He said, aware of how both Robb and Jon had almost immediately sobered upon hearing his words, though Theon remained unfazed, and Bran's eyes had widened to the size of saucers, "Prepare your horses. We will depart as soon as you are ready."

Their leisurely morning had come to an end.

…

After Lord Eddard had departed with Jon, Robb, and Theon in tow, Sabrynna found that some sort of instinct she could not entirely understand had led her to wander back to the godswood, her fingertips skimming in the dark water at her feet while she sat on the familiar downed limb that had become as much a part of her life as her family was, as well. Try though she might to avoid it, the almost stricken expression upon her uncle's features as he had informed them of the deserter seemed fixed within her mind. And no matter what she did to attempt to distract herself from the unsettling sense of foreboding that came along with allowing herself to dwell on that very fact, Sabrynna found that she was powerless to evade it, her free hand that was not otherwise occupied in disturbing the surface of the pool beneath her fingertips clutching at the shawl she had grabbed before venturing this way to pull it tighter about her shoulders.

Her uncle always said that winter was coming, and she was all but certain that it was here, now, even if the snow had yet to fall.

Naturally, she had done what she could to avoid allowing any of her cousins to take note of her distress, knowing that if they did, they would have wanted to know what was behind it almost at once. Since her arrival in Winterfell, they had come to possess an almost uncanny ability to read one another's facial expressions, and memorize their moods, as well. And although there was some small part of her that would not have minded such an inquiry, knowing full well that it only came from a genuine concern, and not out of any desire to be intrusive, Sabrynna was also more than a little relieved that no such questioning had taken place.

As much as she might have appreciated Robb's advice, or Jon's, she could hardly have received it when she did not think she could explain what had troubled her so deeply to begin with.

Removing her fingertips from the water's surface, and drawing her hand back towards her so that she could tuck it beneath the shawl, Sabrynna glanced about her surroundings, and allowed herself to cast her troubled thoughts aside for the moment so that she might savor her temporary solitude, instead. A light breeze rustled at the red leaves of the weirwood that had become as comforting to her as the warmth of the fire that had almost certainly been prepared in her chambers. And once again, she was brought to the realization that she felt more at home here, in Winterfell, than she ever had in King's Landing…

Perhaps she owed her mother more than she knew for sending her here all those years ago, where before she had felt nothing but confusion, and even a small bit of anger, as well.

Startled out of such thoughts by the soft sound of footsteps moving against the leaves that covered the ground, however, Sabrynna found herself snapping her head around to glance at the source of the sound, green eyes widening in surprise as she realized she had been approached by none other than her lady aunt. It was a rare enough thing for Catelyn Tully-Stark to venture into the godswood, given that she, like Sabrynna herself, had been raised in the Light of the Seven. But despite that very fact, Catelyn persisted in the act of walking towards where her niece was seated beneath the weirwood, her expression nothing less than sorrowful while she spoke the words that very nearly stuck in her throat.

"My poor, sweet girl—a raven came from King's Landing. A raven with news about your father…"

The sensation of foreboding that had plagued Sabrynna since just before Lord Eddard's departure appeared to have come to fruition, after all.

…


	7. Comfort and Kindred Spirits

The sound of a soft knocking at the door to her chambers alerted Sabrynna to the presence outside, her hands lifting almost automatically to rub at her eyes, and dash away the tears that never seemed to stop after learning of her father's passing. From what her Aunt Catelyn had told her, the fever had come suddenly, snuffing out her father's life as easily as a strong wind might eliminate the flame of a candle. And no matter how many times her mother's sister might have done what she could to reassure her that there was absolutely no way she might have returned to King's Landing to say goodbye before he passed, Sabrynna seemed entirely incapable of shedding the guilt that clung to her like an ill-fitted cloak, ever since hearing the news first-hand.

Perhaps that was the sole reason behind her decision to shut herself away in her chambers, no matter how many times she could hear her cousins outside the door, whispering amongst themselves about whether or not she would receive them.

Now, however, it seemed her self-imposed solitude was about to be broken, a soft sigh escaping as Sabrynna swung her feet over the edge of her bed, and padded over to the door while her teeth chewed absently at her lower lip. As the wooden door swung inward, and she had prepared herself to tread back towards her bed, leaving whoever stood outside to choose whether to follow after her, or simply leave her to her own devices once more, however, Sabrynna found herself suddenly frozen in place as she realized it was none other than Jon Snow outside her door, his brown eyes concerned, and empathetic as well as he took in her appearance and almost immediately drew her into a comforting embrace.

"Oh Jon," She breathed, all thought of keeping her tears to herself now gone as she allowed herself to settle against her half-cousin's chest while his arms wound around her waist to hold her close. For a moment, her thoughts were taken back to the very first embrace they had ever shared when she first arrived in Winterfell, scared and alone, and unsure of her place in this new world her parents had sent her to. Jon had been the very first to welcome her, and she had never forgotten that fact, choosing instead to use it to allow them to grow closer until they had become the very best of friends.

It was that closeness that settled her enough to allow him to see her in such a state in the first place, with her auburn locks cascading in disarray down her back, and reddened eyes still full to the brim with tears, without fear of him passing judgment on her for being so disheveled. She could trust him to simply hold her, if that was what she wanted, or to distract her from her troubles, or even to simply leave her be if she decided that was what would suit her best. And that ease with which he had always seemed to sense her needs was what made it so very simple for her to let her guard down, where she had tried to remain the very picture of the lady her mother had raised her to be with everyone else.

Perhaps she knew that Jon would see through her façade in seconds, or perhaps she simply did not have the fortitude to pretend anymore, but either way she would never be more grateful for his presence than she was right now, her body settling even closer against his own as he used one foot to shut her door behind him before he began to lead them toward the edge of her bed.

Once they had seated themselves, Jon once again settled his arm about Sabrynna's shoulders, drawing her into his side, while his free hand reached for one of her own. He could feel her trembling against him, though he knew better than to openly acknowledge that very fact, and risk having her turn away from him as a result. She would open up in time, he knew, every bit as much as she had slowly done the same after her arrival what felt like ages ago. All he had to do was remain silent, and allow her to make the first move when she was ready to do so.

"I—I am truly sorry, Jon," Sabrynna began, the unexpected suddenness of her words startling her half-cousin, though for her part, she did not appear to notice, "I never—you should not have to see me this way."

"What if I told you I did not care how you were, so long as I was able to help you through whatever troubles you, and see you to the other side?"

"I would say you were far kinder to me than I deserve."

"And I would say you flatter me too much," Jon replied, somewhat pleased that his remark seemed to have finally persuaded Sabrynna to look him in the eye, a soft sniff echoing in the brief silence that sprung up between them before he was breaking it once more, "You are well within your rights to be upset, 'Brynna."

"Would you still say the same, I wonder, if you knew how long I spent resenting him for allowing my mother to send me here?" Sabrynna mused, managing a faint squeeze of Jon's hand in response to his use of the familiar nickname that he had adopted not long after she had arrived, and wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue before going on, "I should never have thought those things, and now—"

"Now you can never make your amends with him in person."

"And my mother—she's alone now, in the Capital, with—with my brother, and yet she still does not send for me. What—what am I to make of that, Jon?"

"Your mother is grieving," Jon supplied, withdrawing his hand from Sabrynna's so that he could silence her impending protest with one gentle finger placed upon her lips in order to allow himself the proper time to explain what it was he wished to say, "Perhaps she will send for you soon."

"I doubt it. She sent me away so easily, why would she want me back, now?"

"Do you truly wish to leave us so suddenly?"

"No, Jon, it is not that. Not at all!" Sabrynna assured, momentarily taken out of her grief by the desire to ensure that her cousin knew her feelings about her mother's seeming indifference had absolutely nothing to do with him, or the rest of his family as well, "I—I just suppose I may be having trouble finding my place in all of this, from so very far away."

"The Lord Arryn is your father. He will always be your father, dead, or alive," Jon said, watching his half-cousin's expression carefully for any sign of an unfavorable reaction, and finding himself pleased that the lines of worry and grief that had marred her brow appeared to dim, even if only a little, in response to his words, "And I doubt he would hold your feelings against you, even if they were directed at him."

"How can you be so sure? How can you know when you never knew him?"

"Because I have heard my father tell enough stories about him to realize that he was a man who valued family above all else. And you, Sabrynna, are his family, whether you were by his side at the end or not."

Unable to resist the slight lifting of the weight that seemed to have settled upon her chest ever since learning of her father's demise, Sabrynna settled herself against Jon's side once more, the breath leaving her lungs in a slow exhalation while she felt her cousin tighten his arm around her. For another moment or two, they remained in companionable silence, the only sound being the softness of their breathing and the occasional footfall of a passing servant. And just as Sabrynna was preparing to pull away from Jon so that she could thank him for his apparent ability to see to her needs even when she was not fully aware of them herself, she found herself silenced by the sound of his voice, the sudden question he asked her startling her to say the least, and forcing her to fix him with a quizzical expression in response.

"May I show you something?"

"I suppose that would depend upon the 'something' in question."

"A straight answer, please, Sabrynna—" Jon pleaded, amusement creeping into his tone in spite of the fact that he was well aware he still needed to tread carefully with regard to his cousin's emotions, "May I? Or would you rather wait."

"Would you allow me to get dressed, first?" Sabrynna inquired, the task of bringing a smile to her lips still a bit daunting, despite the fact that she was willing to attempt it for Jon's sake, nonetheless, "I fear I may present a rather frightening image to the rest of our family if I venture out as I am."

"You would never frighten us, but I suppose I can allow you that courtesy."

"How kind."

"I'll be waiting outside your door, you know. So, if you even think about changing your mind, I will be back to drag you into the world myself."

"I would not have it any other way."

Seeming pleased by her assertion, Jon rose from the bed and made to depart, only turning back once he had reached the door to ensure Sabrynna was, in fact, moving herself, to begin the task of getting dressed. Satisfied that she appeared to be moving towards the wardrobe, he moved into the hallway and closed the door behind him, his back coming to rest upon the cool stone while he folded his arms across his chest. In truth, he was more than a little concerned by her reticence, even in the face of the fact that she had seemed to brighten, if only a little, once he had made his presence known. It was not that he did not understand her grief—he did, perhaps far more than she would ever know. But he knew perhaps more than most exactly what something that powerful could do to someone if they persisted in dealing with it alone.

He had done much the same once he had been deemed old enough to learn the true nature of his birth, and that was nothing, he knew, compared to the death of a parent that was well-loved by their child.

Even in spite of that knowledge, however, Jon remained determined to do all that he could to bring his cousin back to the world as best he could, knowing that even if he failed this time, that perhaps the act of drawing her out of her room would be enough to start her on the way to coming back to herself. She was far too vibrant a young woman to hide away for forever, no matter what she may wish to do on her own. And although some small part of him knew that he might risk losing her trust if he were to push her too quickly, before she was ready, he had every faith in their friendship to hold onto the hope that such a thing would not come to pass.

No matter what had happened to either one of them, over the years, they had both been strong enough to weather the storm, and Jon knew somehow, without fully understanding why, that they could get through this, as well.

He could only hope that the surprise he had in store for her would aid in that endeavor, rather than hindering it before it even stood a chance.

…

"Jon—what on earth?" Sabrynna enthused, grey-green eyes widening in utter shock as she stood in one of the empty stalls in the stables, and stared down at the two small pups that were nestled together in the hay, "What is—what are they? Where did you find them?"

"Direwolves. We found them the day father took us to execute the deserter," Jon informed, watching his cousin's expression, and suppressing a grin as he realized she had turned her gaze back towards the pups, apparently every bit as transfixed by them as he was, himself, "The one on the right is mine. I've named him Ghost."

"And the—the one on the left?"

"I had hoped you might choose a name for her, yourself."

"You mean she—she's mine?" Sabrynna asked, eyes growing even wider as she tore them away from the two pups and turned them towards Jon, instead, amazement apparent upon her features, "How did you convince your father to allow us to have them?"

"There were five others that we found first. I managed to persuade him that his five trueborn children were meant to have them, and then I found these two after they had wandered off into the brush."

"The poor things—their mother?"

"She did not survive," Jon confessed, a wince passing across his face as he took in the slight frown that marred Sabrynna's brow as soon as she heard the words. He had hoped to show her the pups without such an admission, out of fear that it would only serve to reopen the wound created by her own father's passing. But in spite of that very real fear, Jon found himself rather pleasantly surprised by the realization that his words only appeared to solidify her resolve, her gaze turning back towards the pups as she placed a tentative foot forward to approach them on her own.

"They are so small. It is a wonder they survived at all," She began, pausing in her movements as the pups seemed to sense her presence, their heads perking up to examine the newest arrival, while red eyes glinted in curiosity. The one Jon had called Ghost spared only a moment looking at her, before he was righting himself and scampering towards her cousin to nip playfully at his hand as he stooped to greet him. And that left Sabrynna face to face with the pup that was apparently to be her very own, her body bending slowly until she knelt in the hay before her, and extended a hand to allow the creature a tiny sniff. In next to no time at all, the tiny pup had risked a tentative lick of Sabrynna's fingers, her lips curving up into a smile as the creature crept towards her until her front paws rested gently upon her new acquaintance's knees.

"Well hello there," She cooed, allowing the pup to nuzzle at her left hand while her right lifted to run gently across the soft fur, "Who would you like to be, I wonder?"

"That, cousin, is your choice, and yours alone."

"And if I cannot choose? What then?"

"Bran has not found a name for his pup, either. Perhaps they can commiserate in their anonymity."

"Very funny, Jon," Sabrynna teased, curling her hands as gently as she could around her pup's middle so that she might scoop the tiny creature up into her arms, and rest her cheek upon her soft head, "She's wonderful."

"I am glad that you like her," Jon began, watching as the tiny pup in his cousin's arms seemed to cuddle even further into her grasp, while Ghost watched at his side with a mild interest of his own, "It seemed to me that she and Ghost were very much like you and I, to tell it true."

"Oh? And how, pray tell, might that be?"

"They were outsiders in their pack, such as it was. And they stuck together, regardless."

"I suppose that does sound rather a lot like us," Sabrynna admitted, tearing her eyes away from her pup so that she could look at Jon instead with what she hoped would be utter sincerity apparent in her gaze, "Though I do not truly think we are outsiders in the full nature of the term."

"Are we not?"

"No. Because for all of our similarities to these pups, I refuse to believe my aunt and uncle would be capable of casting us out on our own any more than their children would."

"Lady Stark may well with me," Jon countered, a smile that was not at all sincere tugging at one corner of his mouth as he shifted to a position seated in the hay beside his half-cousin, while Ghost crawled into his lap, "You know she holds no love for me."

"Am I permitted to promise you one thing, then?" Sabrynna asked, the hand that was not otherwise occupied in stroking her pup's soft fur reaching out so that she could grab Jon's and give it what she hoped would be a reassuring squeeze. It troubled her that he thought so little of himself, even in light of the fact that she knew full well her Aunt Catelyn did not appreciate his presence in her home, more often than not. And in spite of how fiercely she still missed her father, and grieved his death, Sabrynna was not about to allow Jon to stand alone against his own conflicted feelings, particularly as he had done all within his power to give her some semblance of a bright light in an otherwise dark and dreary day.

"You are," Jon finally answered, glancing at Sabrynna's hand where it still remained twined with his own, and doing his best to ignore the sudden stab of guilt he felt over how she was comforting him, now, when he still felt it was his duty to be doing that for her, "You are. Please."

"If you ever do find yourself alone, and cold, with no one in this world to take you in, I do not believe you will be on your own for long."

"No?"

"No," Sabrynna confirmed, squeezing Jon's hand once again before turning her attention back to her pup, and smiling faintly as she discovered the tiny ball of fur appeared to have dozed off in her arms.

"If you ever even come close to such a position, I can promise you I will be right by your side, to whatever end the gods have in store for us both."

After all he had done for her over the years since her arrival, and today alone, especially, Sabrynna would not allow her cousin to fight any battle without her standing steadfast at his side.

…


	8. The Naming

The days that passed since hearing of her father's death seemed to grow easier, Sabrynna mused, with Jon at her side, and her little wolf pup's antics to keep her occupied, though even those distractions were not quite enough to dull her grief, entirely. Often, when she was alone in her bed at night, with the tiny wolf curled up beside her, she would reflect upon her memories of the man she had so adored, distant though they were, wondering exactly what might have been different, had she remained in King's Landing, whether her lady mother still wished to send her away, or not. Some small part of her, foolish though it may be, wondered if she might have been able to deter her father's death—to help him, where it seemed no one else could. But almost as soon as the thought came to her mind, Sabrynna forced it aside, knowing that she was certainly far less capable than a trained Maester of the Citadel when it came to the healing arts.

Inasmuch as she had often favored learning what she could from Maester Luwin, she knew she was no match for one of his experience, or that of the Grand Maester Pycelle…

Still, the young woman could not entirely dissuade herself from the guilt that wracked her each and every time such a thought crossed her mind, the pain brought on by the thought of never seeing her father again—never hearing his voice, or feeling the comfort of his embrace—renewing itself time and time again no matter what she might do to stop it. She would regret not being there for him in his last moments until the end of her days, she knew, and although she would have been a fool not to acknowledge the vast deal of good Jon's steady presence at her side had done, Sabrynna also knew that she would never quite succeed in returning to the carefree young woman she had been before the raven arrived, bearing with it its dark news.

What little of the girl she had been since arriving at Winterfell was gone, to be replaced by a woman that still had yet to find her footing in a world she could barely comprehend.

With that thought rather firmly implanted in her mind, Sabrynna did what she could to settle back into some semblance of her former life, forcing herself out of her room if for no other reason than to avoid offending her aunt and uncle with her absence. Slowly—painstakingly, her interactions with all of her family became easier to endure, and she found herself now almost capable of looking forward to the time spent with them, even if it was only a means of diverting her own thoughts from their melancholy cast. She loved them all the more for their steadfast desire to bring her back to the world, though that need never truly out-shadowed Jon's efforts to do the same. It was as though he had taken her to be his personal charge, whether or not she protested against him, and although she had occasionally succumbed to the desire to tease him about it, she would never be more grateful for his constant friendship than she was now.

A tentative smile graced her lips as Sabrynna redirected her attention back to the present, her gaze drifting down to her lap and her folded hands therein while the call of a raven floated overhead. She, Jon, Arya, Sansa and Robb had all brought their new pups to the godswood, in hopes of beginning the training that the Lord Stark had insisted upon, were the wolves to remain as guests in Winterfell's castle. And at the insistent nudging of a tiny nose against her leg, Sabrynna found herself looking down into the wide red eyes of her own pup, a soft laugh passing her lips before she bent at the waist to run her palm gently against the little creature's soft fur.

"Hello there, dear one. Are you demanding more affection?"

"Only because you continue to give it," Robb teased, secretly proud of himself over his success in getting his cousin to laugh, even if it was only a small one, "You coddle her."

"And you do not do the same with Grey Wind?"

"Not as much as you."

"That, my dear cousin, remains to be seen."

In response to her answering volley, Sabrynna was pleased to see a familiar, wide grin spreading across Robb's face, his blue eyes drifting down to where Grey Wind was still seated on his haunches, patiently awaiting permission to move. In truth, Sabrynna had to admit her cousin's direwolf seemed to be the most well-behaved, aside from Ghost, who was also seated at his master's feet, though his red eyes did occasionally drift towards his sister as she scrambled into Sabrynna's lap and began to lick her face. Distracted, the young woman set to the task of gently extracting the little wolf from the folds of her cloak so that she might place her back upon the ground to train with her siblings. And although some small part of her was pained at the prospect of parting from the tiny pup, she knew she was honor bound, just like her cousins, to see to the tiny wolf's training.

Lord Eddard Stark had made no secret of the fact that if even one of the direwolf pups went awry, they would no longer be permitted to stay, and Sabrynna would not have it said that she had been the reason behind her cousins losing a great source of happiness…

Directing the small wolf to sit, Sabrynna spared another smile as the tiny creature reluctantly did her bidding, one hand extending once again to ruffle at the animal's fur. The little thing wriggled with glee, white tail wagging her pleasure though this time, she remained with her rear firmly planted against the ground. Red eyes met her mistress' grey-green ones, as though she were seeking to read the permission to move once again through a simple look. Finding that it was not going to be readily given, however, the little wolf emitted a tiny whine, squirming a bit as she continued to nuzzle her face against Sabrynna's hand, until her ears were pricking up at the sound of another voice, this one belonging to the master of her sibling that was very much like her in appearance.

"Have you found a name for her, yet?" Jon inquired, moving towards Sabrynna with Ghost on his heels, so that he could come to rest on the ground beside her, with legs crossed in front of him while his cousin shook her head, "You ought to hurry, you know. It wouldn't do for Bran's pup to have a name before your own."

"And why is that?"

"He is younger, cousin. It may call into question that wit and intelligence you keep telling us you possess in good measure."

Quirking a brow at Jon for just a moment, Sabrynna remained silent, making a great show of simply taking his remark in stride. It was all she could do to suppress her amusement, and the small spark of mischief that prompted her mouth to curl just a bit at the corners no matter what she did to stop it. But before her cousin might find it in his power to suspect her of her true motives, the young woman had sprung from her place perched elegantly upon one of the roots of the weirwood they all had gathered beneath, tackling her dark-haired cousin to the ground with a thud, and a startled cry of protest as well.

"What—what in seven hells was that for?" Jon gasped, laughing merrily at the unexpected antics of his cousin, and flinging a hand to the side to gather what little of the early summer snow remained upon the ground to stuff it down the back of Sabrynna's dress. Her squeal brought renewed laughter to his lips as she squirmed away from him and tugged at her cloak, despite knowing that some of the snow had already wormed its way between the fabric of her dress and the bare skin of her back. Before either of them could anticipate it, Ghost, Nymeria and Sabrynna's tiny pup had joined the fray, frolicking around their human pack mates with small yips and barks of what could only be described as joy. And as simply as that, what had begun as a gathering to teach the pups some semblance of order devolved into raucous laughter, rough-housing and giggles, the shouts of the Stark children and their cousin echoing through the otherwise empty godswood, and spinning up into the air to drift away to the sky above.

For now, it seemed, each one of them was at peace in the ability to simply spend time with one another, never knowing that they would be torn apart far sooner than any of them might have liked.

…

"She's growing," A voice remarked from somewhere off to Sabrynna's right, the sound causing her to jump as she snapped her head around to glance at the newcomer in response, "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

"There is nothing to forgive, Theon. Though I would caution you against making a habit of sneaking up on me in future."

"And why would you do that, my lady?"

"I would hate to turn around one day and find you missing an arm," Sabrynna remarked, glancing down at her little wolf with a soft smile, before scooting over on the bench that sat beside the training yard so that her uncle's ward could take the place beside her, "Or did Robb not tell you how Grey Wind nearly turned on poor Hodor because he tripped and bloodied Robb's nose trying not to fall?"

"He did. He said only his word stopped the wolf from doing any real harm," Theon confirmed, eyeing the growing pup at Sabrynna's feet, and watching a bit warily as she cocked her head to the side to regard him for a moment before moving forward to sniff at his boots, "Lord Stark was right. They are dangerous."

"Not without the proper training."

"Are you so sure they will always listen to you and your cousins, then?"

"Reasonably so," Sabrynna replied, watching her little pup with interest as the wolf lifted a tentative paw to Theon's shin in hopes of earning a pat or two from her mistress' newfound companion, "I think she likes you, Theon."

"She's still unsettling," Her uncle's ward insisted, though he reached his hand down to the little wolf so that she could give it a cursory sniff, "Her and Ghost, both."

"Because of their eyes?"

"Amongst other reasons."

"She will not harm you. Ghost will not, either."

"I am not so sure. Jon is not nearly as fond of me as he is of his half-brothers."

"He still would never allow his wolf to act against you," Sabrynna pressed, averting her eyes from her wolf so that she could look at Theon more directly, and finding herself more than a little surprised that his expression appeared uncertain, in spite of his penchant for bravado and an oftentimes foolish level of self-confidence, "And I think he likes you well enough."

"How can you say that, my lady?"

"He has come to tolerate me," The young woman advised, suppressing a grin as she realized Theon had caught on to her teasing tone almost immediately, and chosen to laugh in spite of himself in response, "That tells me he has already done the same with you, as well."

"You certainly hold him in high esteem."

"And why shouldn't I? He is as much my blood as Robb, and the others."

"But not me."

Frowning at the implications behind those words, and thinking back to her talk with Jon mere days before in the wake of her father's death, Sabrynna found herself entirely incapable of resisting the urge to reach for Theon's hand, ignoring his startled expression as she took it in between both of her own and gave it an encouraging squeeze. She knew he was not accustomed to such displays, having no desire to receive them from Robb or her brothers, and having never earned any affection from Sansa, or Arya in the slightest. But before he could find it within himself to wrench away to preserve his pride, Sabrynna tightened her hold just the slightest bit, her grey-green eyes meeting his own blue ones for another beat of silence before she spoke.

"You have been raised here in Winterfell longer than you ever were in Pyke. The North is in your blood, Theon Greyjoy, whether you care to admit it or not."

"The sea is in my blood as well, Sabrynna. It has to be, or I have no right to call myself my father's son."

"Is there a law written somewhere that says you may not consider yourself to be of two houses?" The auburn-haired young woman inquired, aware of the puzzlement in Theon's expression, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, "I daresay that is the way of many women, at least, who enter into marriage."

"Are you comparing me to a woman?" Theon laughed, his own indecision momentarily forgotten as he realized Sabrynna had relinquished his hand, in favor of tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear while her wolf once again returned to nudge at her skirts with her nose.

"Never. I am simply suggesting that a person can have loyalties to more than one house, and still be worthy of each."

"Do you truly believe that? Truly?"

"I have to, Theon," Sabrynna admitted, aware of how her voice trembled, and not bothering to do anything to hide it in hopes that her companion would take it as a symbol of the sincerity of her claims, "I have to believe that, or I will go mad."

"Is it truly that terrible, being here?" Theon asked, his expression losing some of its former amusement as he regarded his female companion with mild curiosity. Since he had known her, Sabrynna Arryn had always carried herself as though she truly were a wolf of the North, and not the falcon he knew her to be, blending effortlessly with her cousins as though they were born of the same blood and bone. In truth, he had always admired that very quality, though he had never admitted it aloud. But now, here she was, suddenly and almost painfully vulnerable in her own awareness of her family name—a fact that had Theon abandoning his usual penchant for jokes and teasing remarks in favor of scooting just a bit closer towards her on the bench, beneath the steady red gaze of the little direwolf at their feet.

"The Lord and Lady Stark adore you, Sabrynna. That is plain enough for all to see."

"I know they do. Perhaps that is the problem."

"The problem?"

"Inasmuch as it makes it that much more difficult to avoid feeling closer to them than I do my own parents," Sabrynna confessed, startling herself with the readiness of her words, when she had never exactly held Theon Greyjoy in particularly close confidence, before, "I suppose I just mean that I know what it is to feel conflicted in these matters. I understand your own situation more than you might think."

"It does me good to hear it, my lady," Theon began, momentarily turning away from the weight of Sabrynna's gaze as he realized that her direwolf pup was now gone from their sight, "But where is your wolf?"

"My—oh—" Sabrynna murmured, standing from the bench, and twisting her body this way and that in an effort to get a better glimpse of the godswood, only to find her efforts futile as she saw no sign of her wolf at all. The little thing must have scampered off while she had been lost in her conversation with Theon, so quietly that she had never noticed until this very moment. And although she knew the wolf was likely capable of fending for herself until they were reunited once more, Sabrynna could not help the small spasm of panic that tugged at her heart, regardless, her eyes flicking to Theon's as she watched him rise to his feet, as well.

"Help me find her."

"It might be a bit easier to do that if she had a name," Theon replied, tempering his words with a sly smile, and earning himself a roll of Sabrynna's eyes in response, "That way, if she persists in slinking about like a little shadow in future—"

"That's it."

"I—what?"

"Shadow," Sabrynna breathed, glancing at Theon and granting him a small flash of a grin before returning her gaze to the ground in search of her little wolf, "Shadow and Ghost."

"I take it you've found a name."

"A perfect one. And you have found it, Theon, not I," The young woman corrected, turning in a slow circle as her ears caught hint of a slight rustling just behind the heart tree, "Additionally, I believe we may have found her."

Seeming to catch her meaning, Theon suppressed a laugh and made to move around the opposite side of the heart tree, the sound of the rustling his companion had heard only growing louder as he did so. Before long, the tiny wolf had come into view, the source of the rustling proving to be its frolicking amongst a pile of leaves that had gathered at the base of the heart tree's trunk. But just as he had rounded the trunk, and reached both hands out to snag the tiny creature, she darted away, a happy little yip echoing through the trees as she sprang away from him with a practiced ease.

Sabrynna's laugh soon followed as she gathered her skirts and made to follow her little wolf, and she could have sworn she saw the barest hints of a sly grin on the creature's muzzle as it continued to elude her attempts to catch up. Of course, some small part of her knew that it was madness. A wolf could not smile, after all. But no matter what her certainty might have said about her mental faculties, Sabrynna forced such doubts to the side, her grey-green eyes fixing upon her pup as it darted off into the recesses of the godswood without a second thought.

It seemed now was as good a time as any to see if she responded to her name…

"Shadow—Shadow, sweetling, come here," She called, holding out a hand to stop Theon in his tracks as he so clearly intended to follow after the pup as it disappeared into the woods. The pup had always responded to her calls before, even without a name. And Sabrynna found herself more than a little pleased that her hopes that the wolf would return to her now proved true, the sound of happy little yips reaching her ears as a blur of white fur raced towards her once more.

"There's a good girl—"

"She approves of her name," Theon mused, crouching in the snow beside Sabrynna, who had stooped to lift the little pup into her arms while the creature nuzzled at her chin, and extending a tentative hand only to find himself startled when the wolf gave his fingers a swift lick, "And me, apparently."

"Did I not tell you she did?"

"You should not be that surprised that I held my doubts."

"Well I certainly hope they are removed now," Sabrynna declared, sending her uncle's ward a stern glance that rather quickly faded away into a fit of sudden laughter as Theon found himself suddenly in the thrall of a direwolf pup bound and determined to pounce into his lap, "Shall I give you two some time alone together, then?"

"Very funny, Sabrynna."

"I thought so," The young woman said, smiling at the man sat beside her, and reaching over to ruffle Shadow's fur as the little wolf squirmed until she could plant her front paws upon his chest. A strange sort of peace had settled over her since deciding on the pup's name, as though with that task done, the rest of her duties as daughter of a former Hand of the King fell rather easily into place. And in spite of the fact that she could hardly understand exactly why she suddenly felt so much more at ease than she had since learning of her father's passing, Sabrynna was not about to question it, her fingers tangling themselves in Shadow's fur while the pup remained intent upon showering Theon with all the affection she could muster.

In spite of her name, the little wolf seemed capable of providing a relief that the young woman did not entirely feel she deserved, and she knew she would be forever grateful to Jon for thinking of her when he procured the tiny thing from the icy coldness of the late summer snow…

…


	9. Games and Preparation

As the day of King Robert's arrival in Winterfell drew ever nearer, Sabrynna suddenly found that she had far too little time on her hands for grief, her days spent almost entirely preoccupied with assisting her Aunt Catelyn with the various preparations required to ensure the royal entourage would be well tended during their stay. With Sansa, and Maester Luwin in tow, the Lady of Winterfell moved with a grace that was altogether unusual given the haste of their preparations, delivering gentle instruction to not only the servants, but her daughter and niece as well in hopes it would give them a taste of what it might be like to run their own household some day in the not so distant future. While Sansa watched with wide-eyed wonder, Sabrynna did her very best to make sure not a single detail escaped her, knowing full-well that this would be her task sooner rather than later. After all, she was seven and ten, and had been for many months, now.

She knew enough of the world to realize that someday, she would be a wife, and running a household would be just one of the many things expected of her as a result.

In truth, Sabrynna had done what she could to avoid spending too much time dwelling on that very inevitability, knowing that if she did, she may never stop. The prospect of marriage, as a whole, was not all that objectionable, aside from the fact that in all likelihood she would find herself wed to a man she hardly knew. Freedom to choose a husband for love, and that alone, had never been an option, her lady mother had seen to her gaining that knowledge straightaway. But still, despite how foolish it may have made her to hope for such a thing, Sabrynna could not deny the wish to find at least something akin to love in whomever was chosen for her to marry—

Her mother had always said she had more dreams in her mind than sense.

Shaking such distracting thoughts from her head as she realized her aunt had begun to speak again, Sabrynna turned her gaze towards the older woman, an apologetic smile crossing her lips as she caught on to the fact that her aunt had, in fact, caught her daydreaming. Straightening her stance, Sabrynna assumed a more attentive expression, the amusement upon both her aunt's and Maester Luwin's features tempering her embarrassment, and allowing her free reign to listen carefully while her aunt spoke.

"We will need plenty of candles for Lord Tyrion's chamber. I'm told he reads all night."

"I'm told he drinks all night," Maester Luwin countered, a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth as he caught Sabrynna's eye, and consequently bore witness to her suppressed amusement first-hand.

"How much could he possibly drink? A man of his—stature?" The Lady Catelyn countered, clearly endeavoring to avoid giving offense in the manner of her words, despite the fact that the only souls to hear them would never have breathed a word of the conversation. Lannister pride was prickly at best, she knew, though the family had never been one to balk at dragging another house's good name through the mud. And though Lord Tyrion Lannister may have been the smallest of that clan, that did not mean he would not possess the capability of being equally as dangerous as the rest of his family, should he find the need.

A fact that her dear niece seemed to agree upon, though not a word had been spoken aloud, if her ensuing reply were any indication…

"Perhaps he has a stronger constitution than appearances suggest, Aunt Catelyn."

"We've brought up eight barrels of ale from the cellar. Perhaps we'll find out," Maester Luwin added in, sharing a half-smile with Sabrynna and Sansa before falling into step beside the Lady Catelyn once more, while the two younger girls were left to follow along behind them as they maneuvered around a table where several serving girls were set to work threading garlands together to drape upon the edges of tables and the walls.

"In any case, candles. I'll not have it said that we did not do all in our power to provide for our guests. Sabrynna?"

"Yes, Aunt Catelyn," The young woman replied, aware of how Sansa had suddenly straightened at her side, as though eager to take in whatever it was that her mother had to say. In truth, it warmed Sabrynna's heart to see her young cousin so eager to learn, even in spite of how blind Sansa still seemed to the wider workings of the world. Her greatest dream appeared to be becoming a great lady, with a husband who adored her, and children frolicking at her feet night and day. And even though Sabrynna was more than a little reluctant to encourage such fantasies, she was loath to shatter her cousin's perspective on the world, as a whole, as well.

A part of what she loved about Sansa was her ability to find the best in nearly every situation, and she was not entirely sure she was prepared to change that, no matter how foolish that desire might have been.

"I wonder if I might leave you in charge of seeing to the rooms set aside for our Queen's family," Catelyn began, once again distracting her young niece from her thoughts, though she found that Sabrynna's response was a quick smile and a ready nod of agreement, regardless.

"Of course, Aunt Catelyn. Might—might Sansa assist me, as well? I'm sure it would give her great pride to tell Queen Cersei she was already so accomplished."

It would have taken a blind man to miss how Catelyn almost instantly tensed in response to Sabrynna's words, though she did what she could to avoid letting her posture remain thus for very long, at all. She had read the letter the raven bore, herself. She had seen evidence of King Robert's desire to proclaim Ned Hand of the King, just as she had seen hints of joining their houses, as well. Truth be told, she was not at all prepared to offer any of her children up in marriage, particularly when that would mean losing them to the viper's nest that was King's Landing. But in spite of her doubts, she brought a smile to her lips in time with her nod of assent, the excited glance that passed between her daughter and her niece tempering her reservations just a bit, regardless of the strength of her misgivings.

"She may assist you. So long as neither one of you use this as a reason to abandon your needlepoint."

"We won't."

Watching as both girls hurried off to the task they had just been set, Catelyn remained at Maester Luwin's side, her Tully-blue eyes following after them until they had rounded the corner presented by the open door that led into the hall beyond, and disappeared from view. Already she could hear their muted conversation, punctuated by the occasional soft peal of a laugh, in spite of the distance they were placing between themselves, and the Great Hall. And although she was abundantly grateful for the way in which Sabrynna had seemed to take Sansa under her wing, almost as soon as she had arrived, Catelyn was not blind to the fact that Sabrynna, herself, had a lot to learn when it came to the motives behind a vast majority of the events taking place in the Seven Kingdoms.

Never before had she found herself hoping that she would have more time with both girls to teach them to better guard themselves, before the rest of the world dug its claws into them and tore them apart.

…

"Do you think the Queen will like me?" Sansa inquired, blue eyes catching Sabrynna's attention from across the room, as the older girl fiddled with one of the tapestries that had been recently replaced in the room that would belong to Jaime Lannister, for the duration of the royal family's time in Winterfell, "I've been trying ever so hard to be the proper lady, even with Arya—"

"I think she will see that readily enough," Sabrynna replied, sending a gentle smile her cousin's way, before returning her attention to the tapestry and smoothing its edge with slender fingers, "And if she does not, she must certainly be blind."

"Sabrynna!"

"Well it's the truth!"

"But to say such a thing, and about the Queen," Sansa gasped, her eyes growing every wider as she realized her older cousin was chuckling softly at her words, in spite of how serious the matter seemed in her own mind, "I—I don't think she would approve."

"My dear Sansa, if we cannot all laugh at ourselves on occasion, then I daresay there may be no point to this life at all."

"Do you truly think the Queen is capable of such a thing?"

"Laughing at herself?" Sabrynna mused, turning from the tapestry, and regarding her cousin with a quizzical brow, "Truthfully, I do not know."

"But you knew her. In King's Landing, before," Sansa pressed, moving towards the bed, and perching on its edge gently enough that it barely altered the position of the furs that had been laid across it, "What was she like?"

"She was—well, I suppose she was everything a queen ought to be."

"In what way?"

"In all the ways you would suspect, I suppose," Sabrynna began, her brow furrowing just a bit as she realized that although she had known Queen Cersei, that did not necessarily equip her with the capability of explaining the woman to another soul. Her few direct experiences with the woman left her with little more than a supposition that Cersei Lannister was not one to engage in idle interactions—that everything she did had a purpose, no matter how small it may seem. But regardless of all that, Sabrynna was also reluctant to spoil the image Sansa had so clearly concocted in her mind so quickly without giving her a chance to process the reality of the situation a bit better, a tiny frown marring her features as she took a deep breath before attempting to explain further, "She always appeared so—so regal, it was almost frightening to attempt to get too close."

"She sounds wonderful," Sansa enthused, clearly either not noticing Sabrynna's hesitation in her words, or choosing to ignore it entirely in favor of adopting a genuine smile, "They say she is the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms."

"She is beautiful. Though not as beautiful as you, dear cousin."

Pleased that her answer had its desired effect, namely making Sansa blush prettily, and for the moment, at least, allow herself to be distracted from her inquisition about the queen, Sabrynna skirted around the bed, herself, and reached forward to pull her cousin to her feet. There were still many more things to tend to prior to the king's arrival, no matter how much more enjoyment they both might have received simply remaining where they were in quiet conversation. And Sabrynna would not have it said that she had allowed for failure in the task her aunt had given her, no matter how she might have preferred using the time to attempt educating Sansa about what to expect when King Robert arrived.

She was determined to encourage her cousin to be more cautious about what she believed about these strangers from the south, but she would not allow that determination to mean she shirked her duty to the woman who had taken her in without a second thought.

…

"Ah, the prodigal returns," Theon commented, chuckling openly at the rather significant roll of the eyes his remark had earned him from the young auburn-haired woman in question, though her exasperation rather quickly turned to a smile when she saw her two eldest male cousins, and Theon, himself, waiting for her in the training yard later that evening, as promised, "We thought you were never going to show up."

"Apparently it seems everyone finds now the proper time to turn me into the perfect picture of a high-born lady," Sabrynna returned, glancing back to ensure Arya, Shadow, and Nymeria were still faithfully in tow, "Much to Arya's chagrin, of course."

"I don't see why Mother has to keep you closeted away with Sansa all day preparing. It's all servant's work, anyway."

"Not all of it, Arya. Some of it falls to the lady of a great house, as well."

"Then why doesn't Mother just do it herself?"

"Because she is endeavoring to teach us—Sansa and I, I mean—how to do the same."

"For when you're married, you mean," Arya surmised, a frown marring her features as she looked down at the ground and scuffed the toe of one boot against the dirt, "When you're a great lady, too, and you leave us for good."

"Believe me, Arya, I have no intention of leaving for good. I plan to visit Winterfell as often as I can, whether my future husband wills it, or no."

"Glad to see we won't get rid of you easily," Robb remarked, dodging the almost instantaneous nudge Sabrynna had attempted to aim at his side, and laughing as she emitted an exasperated huff in response, "I doubt Winterfell would be the same in your absence."

"Now you mock me."

"Words wound, cousin. Now you accuse me falsely."

"Is it falsehood, saying as I have? I doubt it," Sabrynna countered, unable to keep the amusement from her tone as she watched Robb furrow his brow in the effort to come up with some justifiable means of keeping their banter firmly in his favor, only to find his efforts thwarted when Jon spoke up, instead.

"Perhaps you should simply allow her to win this round, Robb. Unless, of course, you want to spend the entire evening bickering, instead of practicing."

"Always the voice of reason, Jon, thank you."

"We aim to please, cousin."

"Well you do," Sabrynna encouraged, turning back to Arya, and looping an arm around her young cousin's skinny shoulders to draw her forward, and against her side in a one-armed embrace, "Who would you like to compete against today, dear one?"

"Robb."

"Not me?" Theon interjected, a sly smile toying at his lips as he eyed Arya in earnest, awaiting her reply, while Sabrynna lifted a hand to her lips to stifle her laugh before anyone might hear it.

"Not you. You'll beat me, at least until I get better."

"What makes you so sure Robb won't beat you as well, little lady?"

"If Arya is confident of her victory, I see no reason to dispute it," Sabrynna assured, giving her cousin's shoulders an encouraging squeeze before releasing her to go retrieve her bow and a quiver of arrows from beneath the awning just a few steps away, "And besides, Theon, if she faces Robb, that means someone else may choose you as their opponent, instead."

"And who might that be, my lady?"

"Me."

Turning with a smile to sit on an overturned barrel at the outskirts of the training yard while Arya and Robb went about preparing for their impromptu competition, such as it was, Sabrynna smoothed her hands across her skirts while Shadow padded to sit beside her, nuzzling her head against her thigh. Nymeria had roamed closer to where Arya stood, now engaging in good-natured teasing with Robb about who was more likely to win. And although she was honestly exhausted by the day's activities, and could very well have fallen asleep if given the chance to curl up on the ground, Sabrynna found herself paying rapt attention to the goings on before her as both Robb and Arya took their positions and nocked arrows at almost the precise same moment.

It would have been a lie to pretend that she was not wishing this moment could last for far longer than she knew it would, if for no other reason than to give herself a few more moments of peace with her family before the chaos of the king's arrival stole it all away.

…

"A tie," Jon proclaimed, looking from Theon, to Sabrynna, to the targets both archers had shot at, with arrows dead center in each after multiple attempts to see if one of them would falter in their aim, "Again."

"Why am I not surprised?" Robb teased, clapping Theon on the shoulder, and sending a warm smile Sabrynna's way while simultaneously looping an arm about her waist, and tugging her against his side, "If I didn't know any better, I would say the two of you did this on purpose."

"What do we do now?" Arya inquired from her perch atop the very same overturned barrel that Sabrynna had occupied while she was busy competing with Robb, "How do we decide who wins?"

"One more shot? One of them is bound to falter eventually—"

"You and I both know that will never happen, Robb," Jon disagreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips, as he glanced between his cousin and the Iron Islander stood beside her, before folding both arms over his chest, and ruminating silently for a moment about what to do next, "No, we need another way."

"What did you have in mind?"

"We could see how they both fair with distraction in their midst."

"What sort of distraction?" Arya wondered aloud, glancing around amongst her older cousins, and suppressing an almost immediate grin as Jon replied within mere moments of hearing her inquiry, itself.

"Whatever distraction their opponent deems fit."

"That seems—fair," Theon agreed, something akin to a devilish grin taking over his features as he glanced at Sabrynna, and lifted a brow in silent inquiry while both hands tightened around his bow, "Sabrynna?"

"Agreed. Count me in."

"And how will we decide who goes first?" Robb asked, also seemingly incapable of suppressing his own amusement in light of the manner in which Sabrynna had almost immediately squared her shoulders, her grey-green eyes watching Theon carefully as though she might determine his intentions through simple observation alone. Of course, it was no secret to him that the two often enjoyed teasing one another. In that respect, their tendencies were remarkably similar to those shared by his cousin and Jon, save that Theon and Sabrynna had always possessed a more competitive streak than either he or his half-brother could ever hope to match.

"That's simple. Ladies first."

In the wake of Theon's suggestion, Sabrynna donned an eager smile and strode towards the collection of arrows that still remained in the quiver beside her, nocking one with relative ease, and taking aim in very nearly the same motion. For a moment, she almost risked a glance at Theon, as she had heard and sensed nothing that would indicate he had ever made a move from his place a few paces away. But before she could make any attempts at doing exactly that, she heard the slightest snap of a twig beneath an approaching footfall, her shoulders going rigid in the exact moment that something brushed against the side of her neck, and the arrow flew from her bow to land just to the left of the target's center.

As expected, her sudden failure to hit the target dead-on provoked soft laughter from not only Theon, who stood with an arrow of his own clutched in hand, but her cousins as well, the feathers pointed her way indicating they had been the method he chose to distract her from her task. Instead of joining with them, or managing some clever remark, however, Sabrynna simply stepped aside, chewing at the inside of her lip while she watched Theon take his own place where she had stood mere moments before, an easy smile upon his lips as though he believed his victory was a sure one. It took a moment for her to determine how best to attempt distracting him, the self-assured glance he directed back at her bringing a light smile to her lips as she waited for him to turn back around before making her approach. A sudden, impulsive idea had come to mind, and in truth she had not a clue whether it would be enough to grant her a victory, or if she would be required to endure his good-natured ribbing in the wake of her defeat.

She supposed she would have to take the gamble, and hope for the best.

Stepping forward once she was reasonably certain that his back would remain turned, Sabrynna did what she could to ensure her approach would not make a sound, her eyes remaining fixed upon Theon's back, in spite of her awareness of the soft laughter of her cousins surrounding them. She watched as his shoulders shifted while he drew back on the bow, and took aim with the same easy confidence he exhibited in nearly everything he did. And it was then that she knew she had him, as long as the timing of her act was not too slow, her posture shifting so that she could lean just a bit closer to Theon's side in time to rise onto the tips of her toes and blow a gentle breath against the shell of his ear.

She supposed she would always struggle to decide what was more pleasurable—the look of utter astonishment upon his face as he turned to her with wide eyes, or the open laughter of her cousins as they all watched his arrow sail clean over the target, and embed itself in a post underneath the covered walkway at the outer edge of the training yard, instead.

…


	10. The King Arrives

Sabrynna woke early on the day of King Robert's arrival in Winterfell, her excitement alone keeping her eyes from drooping as she followed in her aunt's wake seeing to the last minute preparations before they all proceeded into the yard to greet the King and his traveling party as was proper and right. In truth, the bustle of activity was near to overwhelming, her mind working as fast as it could to track each of her aunt's movements and commit them to memory. But whether she doubted her ability to recollect all that was necessary to prepare a great house for the royal arrival at a later date or not, Sabrynna would have been lying if she said she was not awaiting the King's arrival with an almost fervent anticipation, her blood seeming to sing through her veins as she finally freed herself of her time indoors, and ventured out to the yard to stand between Jon and Theon to await the arrival of their royal guests.

"You are looking lovely today, cousin," Jon greeted, offering Sabrynna a half-smile as she fell into place beside him, her shoulder brushing lightly against his own, "Hoping to impress the King?"

"Hoping to impress the Queen, more like," Theon countered, grinning openly at Sabrynna's skeptical glance, and endeavoring to elaborate before she could get a word in edge-wise, "A little friendly competition, perhaps? Who is the greater beauty?"

"That would be a competition I would surely lose, Theon."

"I'm not so sure. She is older than you."

"Theon!" Sabrynna hissed, failing to entirely suppress her amusement, even in spite of her attempt to persuade her uncle's ward to speak of other things, lest they be overheard by the wrong person and pay the consequences for a potential insult to the Queen, "You should not say such things."

"Even if they are true?"

"Yes. Even then."

"Well, now I know at least one thing for certain," Theon went on, watching as Sabrynna favored him with a curiously arched brow, and leaning over to brush his arm against hers before going on, "You, my dear Lady Sabrynna, are no fun."

"Better to be no fun, than punished for insulting the Queen," Sabrynna quipped, noting the very first of the guards and soldiers that had begun to make their way through the gates of the yard, and inclining her head in their direction to persuade Theon to consider silence as a more respectful means of observing the King's arrival, "They're coming."

Distracted by the evidence that the royal caravan had arrived, the people gathered in the yard watched on in rapt silence, while the sound of horses and clinking armor echoed around them. For Sabrynna's part, she found that she was utterly enthralled, the sights she took in with widened grey-green eyes seeming to hold some sort of ethereal quality, in spite of the fact that she had seen them before, as a girl in King's Landing. She could almost understand Sansa's girlish wonder at the prospect of the royal family staying in her home, now, though she herself was a woman grown. And as the first glimpses of the royal wheelhouse beginning to lumber through the gates, she found herself smiling, her excitement seeming to drown all other thoughts as she watched with her cousins, Theon, and the rest of Winterfell as the royal procession continued on.

Every single part of it seemed almost exactly as she had remembered it—the knights of the Kingsguard in their golden plate moving beside the wheelhouse, and forming a ring of sorts about the King as he entered as well. For a moment, Sabrynna found herself utterly absorbed in memorizing every last detail, her eyes tracking the movements of everyone she could as though they would be ripped away in seconds if she did not. Though she knew it was foolish, she almost found herself wishing that she might turn her head and see her father stood beside her, ready and waiting to list the names of every single soldier and sworn sword that passed them by. But before such a thought could fully take hold, and dampen her mood, Sabrynna was doing her best to force her attention to King Robert himself, as his horse lumbered into the yard, and came to a stop not far away, her eyes searching his face for any hint of the man she had once looked upon with admiration what seemed so very long ago.

In truth, she could find very little of the man she had once known—the man her father had so loved in the features of the crowned figure now climbing down from his horse and approaching Lord Stark with a stern expression firmly in place. A part of her wondered at the prospect of the hardness evident upon his face only coming about out of a desire to put forth the image of a proper King, as though anything less would render him a disappointment to those he approached. But a still larger part of Sabrynna's mind dreaded the fact that the jovial, laughing man she had met at her father's side all those years ago had been worn down, bit by bit by all the cares and worries of the realm…

She was no foolish girl to believe that being King was a laughing matter, but still, it pained her greatly to consider the idea of Robert Baratheon becoming more like his brother Stannis than he was like his former self.

Determined to avoid allowing such thoughts to show upon her own features, however, Sabrynna did her best to simply set herself to the task of observing the King's approach as he drew to a stop directly before her uncle, and everyone bowed as one to acknowledge his presence. Situated where she was between Jon and Theon, and behind the Stark children, she was allowed more freedom to peek up from beneath her lashes to watch the goings on, first-hand. And so, she was able to see when the King gestured for her uncle to stand once again, her relief almost palpable as she watched the men pull one another into a warm embrace, while their faces broke into welcoming smiles.

As though the tension had been broken by that embrace, the remainder of those gathered in the yard rose to stand themselves, not long after, while the King made his way down the line of Starks and greeted them one by one, giving Sabrynna the chance to brush the dirt from the fabric of her skirt. A glance towards Jon showed her that he was already using his time on his feet as ample opportunity to take in the sight of the Kingsguard, and the other soldiers that had ventured North with Robert on his journey, his brown eyes roaming from man to man without fail. And although she could sense the wanderlust in him just by that single glance at his face—although a small part of her even understood it—Sabrynna was powerless to do or say anything to break him from his dreams of likely heroism and glory, her attention once again distracted by the sudden realization that King Robert had ventured back towards them, and was now fixing his gaze solely upon her own person.

"Gods, but you've grown lovely," He began, reaching forward and gesturing for her to step towards him while his teeth flashed through his beard in what Sabrynna could only call a smile, "Not much of your father in you at all, is there, girl?"

"You flatter me, Your Grace. Surely there are others more worthy of your praise—" Sabrynna murmured, keeping her head bowed as she stepped between her aunt, and Rickon, and tried not to flush beneath the weight of her King's appraising gaze. Truth be told, she was more than a little startled that he even recognized her, as the last time they had met, she had been but a little girl. But before she could find any proper way of saying such a thing, without risking giving offense, she found the effort futile, her grey-green eyes drifting up to meet Robert's laughing blue ones as he spoke once more.

"Nonsense! Come closer, child. Let me get a proper look at you."

Doing as she had been told, Sabrynna averted her gaze once more, while King Robert looked her over, a small jolt running through her as she soon became aware of the gloved fingertip he lifted to fit beneath her chin. Unable to resist such a pull, Sabrynna was soon looking the king full in the face, her cheeks flushed as she pondered exactly why he was paying her such attention, at all.

She had heard him comment upon Sansa's loveliness already, of course, but in spite of his kinship with her late father, the young woman still did not fully understand his apparent desire to look upon her as though seeing her for the very first time.

"Aye, you're a pretty one, just like your cousin. And her mother," King Robert said then, dropping his hand back to his side, and nodding to indicate Sabrynna was free to step back and rejoin her kin, while he turned back to her uncle to address him, instead, "Pity you've not found a match for her yet, Ned. None of these Northern fools good enough, then?"

"Not at all, Your Grace. I simply did not wish to force my girls to part with their cousin until the necessity became unavoidable."

"Ah, well, she's yours to do with what you will. Take me to your crypts. I would pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love—" Queen Cersei intervened, her words soft, but yet still carrying the faintest hints of a warning as she looked to her husband, and waited for his reply. As soon as she had spoken, she became the sole object of Sabrynna's focus, as though the previous encounter with the King had not happened at all. And it would have been a lie for the young woman to pretend she saw anything welcoming in the Queen at all, in direct contrast to the unexpected warmth of her husband's features, her entire body going rigid as she came to the sudden realization that Cersei was now glancing at her, green eyes narrowed in apparent disdain before King Robert broke the silence once again.

"The crypts. Ned."

With the King's insistence upon departing with Sabrynna's uncle in tow, the remainder of the party was left to disperse at will, the Lady Catelyn venturing forward to show the Queen and her children to their rooms, while the rest of the party who had gathered to greet the royal caravan remained behind. Prior to their arrival, her aunt had already given permission for her to remain with Sansa, Arya, and the rest of her children while the royal party was situated to rest, and tidy up after the end of their journey. And so, Sabrynna soon allowed herself to become fully immersed in the small throng that had formed from the orderly lines of before, her arm instinctively looping around Arya's shoulders as the young girl found her way to her side.

For now, at least, she could enjoy the small respite from entertaining royalty, and spend time preparing for the feast with her family, instead.

…

"So, it is true then. Uncle intends to ride South with the King when they depart?"

"It is," The Lady Catelyn confirmed, still entirely occupied with plaiting Sansa's hair for the feast, and yet finding the time to risk a glance at her niece where she sat perched upon the edge of the bed, regardless, "King Robert has named him Hand of the King."

"And he has accepted?"

"It seems likely that he will."

"I am sorry, Aunt Catelyn. I know that you wished for him to remain here, with you," Sabrynna began, her tone soft as she watched her beloved aunt's face carefully, and saw quite clearly the obvious worry and concern that were apparent upon her features, "Perhaps when he is settled you will be permitted to venture South for a visit?"

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, Sabrynna. Always."

Sobered by her aunt's words, Sabrynna only managed a nod in lieu of further speech, her gaze shifting to where Sansa sat upon her stool, her hands fidgeting in her lap and giving evidence to her excitement over the evening ahead. If she were to be honest, she wished she could summon her cousin's enthusiasm, if only to rid herself of the apprehension she felt over asking her aunt the question that had nibbled at the back of her mind ever since hearing of the King's intentions to take her uncle back with him to the Capital. She did not wish to leave Winterfell. Not really, despite knowing that the questions she had would only be answered if she made her request of her aunt without hesitation. And yet, despite that knowledge, Sabrynna still found herself biting her tongue as she watched the Lady Catelyn and Sansa with all that she had, a small pang of loneliness stealing over her as she wondered if she would ever share such a bond with her own mother, as well.

Distracted as she was by such a sudden and unexpected thought, Sabrynna found the momentum for her own inquiry lost in the wake of Sansa's breaking of the companionable silence that had fallen between their trio, her eyes snapping to her cousin's as she forced her attention back to the present, just in time to hear her speak.

"Do you think the Prince will like me? What if he thinks I'm ugly," Sansa inquired, her question halting her mother's progress with her hair as she turned to glance up at her with almost pleading eyes. It was clear, just from one look at her expression, that everything in her world suddenly hinged upon her mother's favorable reply. And although Sabrynna could tell that her aunt had some reservations, still, about how best to proceed, she found herself marveling at how even the Lady Catelyn's tone seemed as she answered her daughter's question with just the faintest hints of a smile.

"If he does, then he is the stupidest Prince that has ever lived."

"When will we be married? Soon? Or will we have to wait?"

"Sansa, your father hasn't even said yes, yet," Catelyn cautioned, her words clearly not having the desired effect upon her daughter, if the sudden determination that stole over Sansa's youthful features were any indication.

"Please make him say yes, Mother, please. It's the only thing I've ever wanted."

Unable to resist the pull that seemed to draw her eyes towards her aunt's in that moment, Sabrynna met the older woman's gaze with one of her own that only mirrored her concern over Sansa's willful vocalization of her desires. Though Sabrynna had seen far less of the world than the Lady Catelyn, she still knew well what might await such a sweet young girl in King's Landing, having grown up there, for a time, herself. And it was apparent in the look that they shared that each of them feared that such a place would only destroy Sansa's very nature, bit by bit, until there was nothing more than a shell of the lovely girl she had once been.

Her own feelings about the journey South seeming rather trivial in the wake of such a realization, Sabrynna soon found herself capable of summoning the courage required to give voice to the inquiry she had initially wished to put before her aunt, her posture straightening as she stood from the edge of the bed, and stepped forward to gently turn Sansa's head once more so that her mother could finish with her hair. For a moment, the Lady Catelyn's eyes searched her own, as though she sensed that Sabrynna had something that she wished to say, now, as well. But instead of heading off any such event with words of her own, Catelyn seemed content to simply turn her gaze back to her daughter's vibrant red tresses, the slight nod she gave while doing so giving Sabrynna all the permission she needed to speak.

"I know it is not yet decided, Aunt Catelyn, but if—if Uncle Ned does go South with the King, and if he takes Sansa with him—I wondered if I might go, as well."

"And why would you wish to do that?" Catelyn asked her niece, her tone gentle despite the sudden spasm of fear that seized her in response to what the young woman had requested. Truthfully, she had anticipated that Sabrynna would make such a request, but that did not mean it was any more pleasing to hear it…

She knew it likely made her one of the most selfish women alive, and yet even that was not enough to stop her from wishing that she could keep her sister's daughter close to her, even if she was not permitted to do the same with her daughters.

"I had hoped—I had hoped that I might find out the true nature of my father's death," Sabrynna confessed, then, her words bringing Catelyn's Tully-blue eyes to rest upon her youthful face, though the older woman still managed to hold her tongue for long enough that her niece might go on, "And if I went along, I would also be able to assist Sansa in growing accustomed to life in the Capital as well."

"I will have to speak to your uncle about it, Sabrynna. I cannot promise you that he will agree," Catelyn said, hoping deep in her heart that her lord husband would deny their niece this one request, as she had begun to fear that any inquiry at all as to the manner of Jon Arryn's death would only lead to pain and torment for the one doing the asking, "And I know that Robb, Bran and Rickon would be sad to see you depart, as much as I would, myself."

"I understand, Aunt Catelyn. Truly, I do. May I—may I just ask you one thing, in return?"

"Of course, dear child."

"If Uncle Ned does say yes—please do not think my departure is in any way a reflection on your hospitality, or the joy I have known since I arrived here in Winterfell."

Smiling, even in spite of her reluctance to be parted from any one of her girls in the wake of the King's arrival, the Lady Catelyn finished the last of the braids in her daughter's hair, and stepped around the stool Sansa occupied to draw her niece into a warm and genuine embrace. Pleased at how Sabrynna's arms almost immediately shifted to wind about her waist, Catelyn pressed her lips against the girl's auburn hair that was so very much like her own and her sister's, her eyes closing for a moment as she endeavored to simply savor the closeness that existed between them. In some ways, Sabrynna was every bit as much her daughter as Sansa and Arya. And the very thought of allowing her to venture to King's Landing for any reason at all, whether or not it would mean a trustworthy companion for Sansa paralyzed her with fear far more potently than she dared to admit.

No matter her promise to Lysa all those years ago when she had taken her young daughter in, Catelyn now felt responsible to the young woman she held in her arms purely for her own self, knowing that any harm that befell Sabrynna would pain her every bit as much as anything that harmed her own children.

…

Seated in the Great Hall with the rest of her cousins, Sabrynna laughed along with Robb at the jest Theon had just made, her fingertips still lingering on the glass she held as she savored this time with family more than anything she had ever known. She could not be sure that it would not be one of the last meals she shared with them. Not without knowing whether or not her uncle would agree to her joining him in King's Landing. And so, she did her best to remain entirely focused upon the feast at hand, her desire to commit every last thing about her surroundings paramount as she leaned against Robb's arm with good-natured affection, and took a sip of the glass of wine she had been permitted before she spoke.

"We should entertain the royal family more often if it means a meal like this one."

"Why cousin, I do believe you are quite drunk," Robb teased, nudging Sabrynna with his arm, and grinning openly as she only offered him a wide smile in return before replying in kind.

"And you are not?"

"Only a little."

"That, my dear Robb, is a lie for all the ages," Sabrynna remarked, aware of the modicum of truth in his assertion, and yet also knowing that she was not nearly so bad off as a good half of the other people in the hall with them, "And besides, we have only been permitted two glasses, rather than the usual one."

"I daresay that does not matter, since you have barely eaten a thing."

"How can one eat, when there is so much to see?"

"Quite easily, cousin. Watch," Robb advised, tearing off a hunk of bread from the piece that rested upon his plate, and popping it in his mouth to chew and swallow accordingly, "See? Simple enough."

"Perhaps you are right. Though I still find I am hardly hungry enough to consume over-much."

"And why is that?"

"Because, Robb—the musicians are clearly preparing to play music for dancing."

Laughing at the almost predictable nature of his cousin's reply, Robb stretched out a hand to brush a stray tendril of auburn hair away from her face, her grey-green eyes meeting his for only a moment, before they were straying farther down the hall and landing upon what he could only guess was the table Jon had been seated at for the duration of the feast. Though she had not spoken the words out loud, Robb would have been a fool to pretend he did not know that Jon's isolation did not trouble her deeply, regardless of her understanding for the reasoning behind it. And before he could fully recognize the sudden steely glint of determination in her eye as she pushed herself back from the table and stood to her full height, Robb realized that Sabrynna clearly intended to venture forth to drag his half-brother to the center of the room to partake in the impending first dance, his knowledge of the ire that may provoke from his mother prompting him to hurry after her, and reach for her hand before she made it more than a few steps away.

"Sabrynna, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" The young woman quipped, glancing down at Robb's hand that had latched upon her own, and lifting a brow before going on, "Are you going to let me go?"

"Are you mad? You risk offending the Queen."

"Is it not more offensive to separate someone we love from us? To make it seem as though he is inferior simply to please a guest?"

"Mother did so for a reason, Sabrynna. You know as well as anyone what that reason is, and yet still you love her in spite of it," Robb persisted, his eyes pleading with his cousin to remember that fact, alone, even if she remembered nothing else. He knew it had always troubled her that the Lady Catelyn seemed incapable of warmth towards her husband's bastard son, though she had always kept her feelings to herself in that regard every other time before. And although some small part of him had to admire her for her steadfast dedication to Jon, regardless of his station, Robb was very much reluctant to see his mother and his cousin at odds for the first time since Sabrynna had arrived in Winterfell, his hold only tightening upon her hand as she once again tried to tug it away.

"Robb, please—let me go."

"Sabrynna—"

"Please," The young woman repeated, this time successfully managing to free her hand from Robb's grasp, and taking a few steps back before he could reach for her again. In truth, she had not a clue where this sudden rashness was coming from, as she was well-aware that her cousin's reasoning was true. She would have been a liar to say that it was her intention to offend their guests, or bring shame to her aunt, in any way. But something about the idea of keeping Jon apart from the rest of them had rankled her, like a thorn pricking constantly at her side…

She simply could not let him feel any more like a separate entity from the rest of them than she knew he already did, and so she forced herself to manage an apologetic smile for Robb before she turned and headed towards Jon's table once more, only to find her path was blocked by a figure much taller than her own.

"Ah, the little falcon. And just where are you off to, I wonder?"

It seemed as though she had stumbled directly into the path of the Kingslayer…

…


	11. Plans Foiled

"Ah, the little falcon. And just where are you off to, I wonder?"

It seemed as though she had stumbled directly into the path of the Kingslayer…

…

"Begging your pardon, Ser," Sabrynna managed, her cheeks burning a brilliant red as she stumbled back just a bit in her haste to put some distance between herself, and the man now standing before her, and found to her dismay that Ser Jaime almost automatically extended an arm to steady her, whether she wanted him to do such a thing, or not, "I hope I did not harm you."

"You seem to be the one thrown off balance, my lady—"

"Then I hope I do not offend."

"Why should you? Is it written somewhere that a woman must never own to even the slightest of imperfections?" Ser Jaime mused, a slight chuckle escaping as he took note of the look of surprise that flashed across the young woman's features, though she did go to some length to mask that astonishment, and school her features back into the epitome of gentle grace before she shook her head and made her reply.

"I make no claims to be perfect, Ser Jaime."

"Then you are one woman in a million, my lady."

"I think not," Sabrynna countered, entirely uncertain over whether she should join in the obvious mirth currently being enjoyed by the man that was still blocking her path, or simply beg his pardon once more, and make a getaway as quickly as she could thereafter. In truth, all that she wanted in that moment was to complete her journey to Jon's table, and find the familiar comfort in his presence that had been momentarily stalled by Ser Jaime's presence in the first place. But in spite of how fiercely she wanted to get away from the man—how very aware she was of the sudden influence of the wine she had enjoyed, and how it had made her a little less steady on her feet than she may have been, otherwise—Sabrynna also knew that Jaime Lannister was not a man she wanted to risk offending.

He was the Queen's twin brother, after all, and a member of the Kingsguard, and she owed it to her Aunt Catelyn to remain the very picture of feminine propriety that she knew she was expected to be, her own comfort be damned.

Somewhat steeled by such thoughts, Sabrynna found herself capable of summoning a faint smile to her lips, then, her grey-green eyes meeting her companion's as she swallowed once, and forced herself to hold his gaze while he spoke when every instinct she possessed all but demanded she look away.

"If you will permit me to pass, Ser, I will be of no further trouble to you, and we can both be on our way."

"And where will you go?" Ser Jaime wondered, his tone giving proof that he truly had no desire to hear her answer, despite the fact he had asked the question at the start, "Surely you do not mean to turn in so early."

"I simply wish to—pay a visit to my cousin."

"Ah. The bastard."

"Jon," Sabrynna corrected, unable to entirely mask the venom in her tone that always seemed to rise to the surface whenever Jon was spoken of in a less than favorable light. Of course, as yet, Ser Jaime had not said anything other than the bare truth, whether or not the young woman felt his succinct description was in any way deserved. But even with such knowledge, Sabrynna would have been a liar to pretend she had not already bristled at the thought of just what he might say next, her smile fading away as quickly as it had come as she endeavored to finish speaking to the man before her, and be on her way before she said or did something she, and her family might regret, "I find I have not spoken with him since the feast began, and I wish to rectify that as quickly as I can."

"You wish to dance with him."

"I—Ser Jaime, I never said—"

"You did not have to," Jaime cut in, a wry grin toying at one corner of his mouth as he once again shifted to block Sabrynna's path as she moved to step around him, and took note of the rather poorly suppressed sigh of resignation that escaped her lips as soon as she discovered what he had done, "I confess, I overheard you mention something similar to the boy—Stark's eldest."

"Robb."

"Yes, that was the one."

"Well, as you appear to already know of my intentions, perhaps you will permit me to see them to fruition," Sabrynna began, her head held high no matter how she could feel her cheeks still blazing beneath the weight of Jaime Lannister's unreadable gaze, "I beg your pardon, again, for stepping in your path."

"If you wish to find a dance partner, my lady, perhaps you ought to realize a better option stands before you."

"I—I am afraid I do not take your meaning, Ser."

"I mean myself," Ser Jaime explained, chuckling once more as Sabrynna's expression turned from simply bemused, to something not all that far from open disbelief, instead, "That is, of course, if you wish to avoid offending my sister."

"I fail to see how sharing in a dance with family would risk that."

"I believe that would depend on the station of said family member, my lady. Does the boy even know how to handle a woman on the dance floor, I wonder?"

"He was taught by the same dancing master as my other cousins," Sabrynna informed, her gaze momentarily straying to where she now noted Jon sat at the table she had been attempting to reach, his dark eyes riveted upon Jaime Lannister's back, while a muscle twitched against his jaw, "I suspect his talent is adequate for the cause."

"I daresay mine is better."

"Regardless, Ser Jaime, I would not wish to cause you any trouble," The young woman persisted, once again attempting to step around her impromptu companion, only to find that he had once again reached out to grab her arm, his fingers curling about her wrist gently, despite the fact that the strength inherent in even that light hold gave proof to how he could restrict her movement still more than he already had, if he so desired.

"I insist."

Recognizing she was trapped, whether she wanted to acknowledge such a thing or not, Sabrynna forced herself to grant the knight before her a confirmatory nod, her eyes catching the slight shift in his features as he became aware of his apparent victory, and had chosen to react in kind. In next to no time at all, he was tucking her arm through his own, a smile that never reached his eyes drawing the corners of his mouth upwards, as though he truly were a lion that had just caught its prey. But before that realization and the potential implications therein might cause Sabrynna to lose her nerve entirely, regardless of how many people watched them as the knight led her to the widened swath of floor, and the musicians began to strike up another tune, the young woman forced herself to cast one final glance back over her shoulder towards Jon, her eyes meeting his as she attempted to convey precisely how sorry she was that her attempts to draw him into the celebration that the rest of the family partook in had gone so terribly wrong…

To say that the expression upon his face was anything less than stony would have been a lie.

…

Jon Snow watched as Jaime Lannister kept a steady hand upon his cousin's waist while they turned about the dance floor with a select few other couples, his teeth grinding together as he saw the precise depth of unease that was so apparent in Sabrynna's youthful features, no matter how she did her best to play the part of the proper lady, smiling and sharing in small-talk in equal measure. Of course, he would have been a liar to pretend that some small part of him was not overwhelmingly proud that she had managed to stay standing at all, what with how even he had seen her trembling beneath the older man's touch not that long after their near-collision not long ago. But a still greater part simply wished that he could stand, and move towards them in order to free his cousin from the arms of a man she danced with, the consequences he might incur for interfering with Queen Cersei's very own brother be damned.

Leave it to him to desire to do the one thing that he knew he could not—was that not, after all, a bastard's lot in life?

Suppressing a low growl at the thought as he did what he could to force it from his mind, Jon soon became aware of the steady pressure of a soft warmth against his shin, his gaze momentarily drifting away from his cousin and her dance partner as he glanced beneath the table, instead. As though the creature had sensed his distress, Ghost was planted firmly at his side, red eyes almost seeming to glow as they stared at him with an earnest sort of wisdom that went far beyond the intuition present in any other animal Jon had known thus far. And although Jon knew he still had a long way to go as far as it pertained to settling his mood, he was also very well aware that the direwolf's presence at his side would perhaps curb his more reckless impulses until he did.

If only Sabrynna's wolf had been permitted at the feast, to do the same for her.

Unbidden, a soft snort of amusement left him, even in the face of his otherwise sour mood, one corner of his mouth twitching as he imagined the myriad of ways Shadow might react upon seeing her mistress in such distress. Like Jon himself, the twin to his own wolf seemed to have a peculiar ability to sense even the slightest of changes in Sabrynna's temperament, no matter how fervently she might have wished to keep such a thing a secret. And although Jon knew that he had only been able to keep Ghost with him throughout the feast because he was not permitted to sit at the same table as the royal children, that did not stop him from regretting the fact that he had not summoned the wherewithal to come up with a plan to slip Sabrynna's wolf in as well, along with Ghost.

Not for the first time, he mulled over the reality of how the two albino wolves were every bit as attached at the hip as he was with Sabrynna, herself, and he knew that, whether Ghost showed evidence of it or not, this enforced separation would pain him every bit as much, if not more, than it pained Jon to sit in enforced silence as Tywin Lannister's eldest son held his cousin close while the musicians transitioned to their next song.

Of course, Jon was forced to admit that some part of him still admired the man, tales of his prowess and courage in both battles, and tournaments having reached as far as the hearths of Winterfell, and possessing the ability to render him in awe, even as a young boy, that such skill were even possible to begin with. But great heroics aside, the only thing that occupied Jon Snow's mind in a moment such as the one he now faced was that this was also a man who had earned himself a bit of a reputation as one that was not to be trusted, and all as a result of the one act that had given him his fame in the first place.

He did not wear a sword that he could thrust through Sabrynna's back at any time he chose, but that did not mean that he could not harm Jon's cousin in other ways without ever landing a blow against her.

Grinding his teeth together once again as the thought filled him with an instinctive need to secure his cousin's presence at his side, and not Ser Jaime's, Jon felt the fingers of his right hand curling into a fist upon the table while his other hand reached for the momentarily ignored tankard of ale in the same motion. The liquid burned as it made its way down his throat, and although that was not entirely enough to distract him from the darker nature of his own thoughts, Jon would have been blind to ignore that it did seem to dull his anger, at least a bit, a slow breath hissing out through his nostrils as he noted that the next dance had already come to a close, and his cousin was dipping into the very picture of a perfect curtsy, while Ser Jaime bent in the briefest attempts at a bow, before turning on a heel and heading back towards the table that housed his sister, and her children as well.

In the wake of her dancing partner's absence, Sabrynna remained alone in the space of flooring in the Great Hall that had been cleared for such merriment, her grey-green eyes startlingly guarded, despite the redness to her cheeks that even Jon could see from where he sat a few feet away. But even as he swung his leg over the bench to stand, and head towards her on his own, Jon became aware of Robb moving her way as well, his brother's significant advantage in proximity allowing him to secure Sabrynna's presence for another turn about the floor, and thus giving Jon leave to head off in the opposite direction towards the door at the other end of the hall, Ghost padding along at his heels as he left the feast with the knowledge that, at least for the moment, Sabrynna was in good hands.

Now all that remained was tamping down the bitter sting of regret he felt that came about in response to the realization that propriety all but forbade him from being the one to be the first at her side, no matter how fiercely he may have wished to do exactly that.

…

Not long after she had finished her dance with Robb, Sabrynna had found her feet carrying her away from the lingering sounds of chatter and music that echoed in Winterfell's Great Hall, her hands worrying away at one another almost without her conscious awareness while she moved into the outer yard, and started on the familiar path that would lead her to the godswood, instead. She could hardly explain it—the somehow instinctive desire to venture to a place that had honestly terrified her when she had first seen it upon her arrival at Winterfell, all those years ago. But now, as she stepped upon the soft coating of leaves that blanketed the ground in that silent place, the young woman knew that it would have been the only place to provide her with the solace and comfort that she felt she needed, whether she had wanted to confess to such a desire or not.

She knew, of course, that her departure might have been seen as disrespectful to King Robert and Queen Cersei, and the royal children as well, particularly as the majority of her family, save for Arya, remained in the Great Hall even now. For a moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the simple distraction presented by the memory of her younger cousin's enforced journey to bed, after having succeeded in flinging a small bit of food across the hall to land smack dab upon poor Sansa's cheek, much to the older girl's mortification. But almost as soon as a faint smile had come to tug at the corners of her mouth, Sabrynna found the expression dying out far too quickly, her lips pursing into a frown, instead, as she strode over to the stump at the base of the heart tree her uncle sat near every time he ventured here, himself, so that she might take a seat, and smooth her hands over her skirts not long thereafter.

In contrast to the warmth of the Great Hall, Sabrynna could do nothing save for shiver now in the evening chill present in the godswood, the soft wind that rustled the weirwood's red leaves causing her to lament over not having the forethought to stop by her chambers to grab a cloak before she came. It had been as though something far stronger than she could truly comprehend had driven her here, against all logic, and certainly without preparation for the climate she would find upon her arrival. And yet, now that she was here, Sabrynna found herself all but powerless to summon the wherewithal to depart, her breath puffing out in a visible cloud before her face as she curled her arms around her frame, and glanced down at the stillness of the dark waters at her feet.

Finally free of the seemingly thunderous noise of the gathering set about for their royal guests, the young woman found that now, she had sufficient freedom to think back upon the events that had transpired therein, her brow furrowing just a bit as she called up each memory, one by one. In the chill of the night, the fog created in her mind from the wine she had consumed only seemed to fall away, leaving her ready and able to evaluate her decisions, such as they were, whether she truly wished to or not. And in spite of the fact that she tried as valiantly as she could to come up with some other reason for her sudden retreat to the godswood, when propriety demanded she remain with her family and their guests, Sabrynna was forced to admit, there in the solitude of the godswood, that the true reason behind her fears and apprehensions was not her inability to succeed in sharing in the merriment with the one person she knew would need it most. It was not the manner in which the King seemed to draw woman after woman near him, even with his Queen seated mere feet away. And it was not even the predatory gleam in Jaime Lannister's eyes as he had danced with her for far longer than she might have dared believe he would.

No, what troubled her the most, and paralyzed her heart with the fear of retribution had been the icy gaze of the Queen as she watched her move about the floor in the arms of her twin, her own green eyes blazing despite the way in which her expression never faltered from its mask of impenetrable calm.

Frowning as Queen Cersei's face seemed to swim in her mind, as though taunting her with both anger and a startlingly aloof nature that Sabrynna was powerless to ignore, the young woman shook herself minutely, and redirected her gaze to the soft ripples on the surface of the dark water at her feet while a sudden breeze blew through the godswood, and caused gooseflesh to prickle upon the skin of her arms. Try though she might, she could never recall having seen the older woman's eyes blaze in such a fashion, as though a fire had been kindled in their depths that could never be put out, not even when she was still a young girl, glued to her father's side at court.

The only time Queen Cersei had even given a hint of possessing such ire had been when Robert had insisted her uncle take him down to visit the crypts.

Unable to make sense of that particular realization, or the commonality it may have possessed with her own brief foray with Jaime Lannister, Sabrynna exhaled in a rush, and did her best to rid her mind of such thoughts at all, the dull ache that had taken root at her temples prompting her shoulders to slump, as she simultaneously became aware of muted footfalls making their way towards her through the foliage upon the ground. Instantaneously, grey-green eyes flicked towards the sound, the tension that had taken root in her shoulders rather rapidly fading away as she realized who it was that had come after her, in the first place. And although some small part of her felt alarmed at her uncle's presence, knowing full well that he still had guests to entertain, the young woman would have been lying had she said that she was not abundantly grateful that he had been the one to find her, instead of someone else, entirely.

"I thought I might find you here," Ned began, warmth apparent in his tone as he approached, and removed the cloak he wore about his own shoulders to drape it across his niece's instead, "You look rather pensive sweetling. Does something trouble you?"

"Nothing that I can readily explain," Sabrynna confessed, watching as her uncle's expression trended towards a frown, while one of his large hands simultaneously moved to tuck an errant lock of auburn hair behind her ear, "I suppose I simply—wanted some quiet, after the noise of the feast."

"You are trembling."

"Only because of the chill."

"And yet, as you say the words, I sense even you do not fully believe them," Ned supplied, registering the surprise that flickered its way across Sabrynna's features, and smiling faintly in response before sitting on the stump beside her own while she took the liberty of drawing the cloak he had given her more tightly about her frame, "What is it, child?"

"I wish I could tell you," Sabrynna sighed, her teeth worrying at her lower lip for a moment as she tried and failed to come up with some adequate means of explaining to her uncle exactly why she had suddenly become so withdrawn, "But I cannot seem to form the words in any way that would make sense."

"Did something happen at the feast? With Ser Jaime, perhaps?"

"No. Or, at least—not in such a way as to say he had given undue offense."

"But he did trouble you," Eddard surmised, his eyes holding Sabrynna's as he read her answer in her expression, before she ever had the chance to say the words aloud. He had been watching, of course, while Jaime Lannister spoke with his good sister's daughter. He had seen the way the young woman tried so valiantly to remain unflappable, even in spite of the way the man obviously put her on her guard. And although he often lamented the myriad ways in which his daughters and his dear niece were a mystery to him, while Catelyn listened patiently with a smile playing at her lips, the Lord Eddard Stark had known, with just a single glance at the woman now seated beside him, that she had been far more unnerved by her time spent with the Kingslayer than she dared to admit.

"What did he say?"

"It was not—it was not him who caused this," Sabrynna said, then, her eyes drifting down to where her hands rested, fisted in the fabric of the cloak her uncle had given her, though even that was not enough to render her blind to the way they trembled, "Not truly. He was—he was the very picture of a gentleman, if truth be told."

"If he truly were what you say, I doubt you would have felt the need to venture here."

Knowing her uncle had the right of it, Sabrynna kept her gaze fixed upon her hands where they rested in her lap, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she tried to summon the courage she felt she needed to tell her uncle the truth. It was not that she did not trust him, of course. Not when he had done nothing but see to her safety every since she first arrived at his home. But that fact notwithstanding, Sabrynna still felt the slightest reluctance over telling her uncle precisely what it was that had chilled her blood in her veins, the lingering memory of cold green eyes holding her pinned beneath their gaze causing her to shiver before she became aware of the weight of Ned Stark's hand reaching out to grasp her own, and envelop it in a solid and reassuring warmth while he spoke.

"You may tell me anything, Sabrynna. You know this."

"I do," The young woman confirmed, managing a small smile for her uncle's benefit, before glancing back to the still waters of the pool beneath the weirwood, and staring into its depths in the hope that its serenity would grant her the wherewithal to speak further, without any fear, "And I do not tell a lie when I tell you that Ser Jaime is not what troubles me, Uncle. I swear it."

"Then what does? Or, who?" Lord Stark inquired, squeezing Sabrynna's hand in a gesture that he hoped would be reassuring, and reaching forward with his other hand to tuck a finger beneath her chin to draw her face up to meet his gaze head-on, "I swore to protect you, you know, from the moment you entered my home, and I will do so. But I cannot have a hope of keeping that promise if you cannot tell me what it is that you fear."

"You will think I have lost my nerve—"

"Why don't you allow me to be the judge of that?"

With her last attempt at keeping her uncle's inquiries at bay gone, as quickly as the last of the summer snows beneath the rays of the dawning sun, Sabrynna forced herself to manage a simple nod in response to the request that had been made of her, a shallow breath puffing out in the chilled air around her as she squared her shoulders, and tightened the hold of her hand upon her uncle's for a moment before she summoned enough strength to reply.

"The Queen."

"The Queen," Eddard repeated, doing his best to keep the sudden dread sparked by his niece's confession from making its way into his expression, though he knew full well that Sabrynna had every reason to fear Cersei Lannister, if the woman had been angered by her actions in any way. On the surface, Ned could find no reason for such a thing, particularly as, to his knowledge, Sabrynna had been granted few enough opportunities to interact with the older woman at all. But something in the way the young woman had seemed so reluctant to give voice to her worries at all had given Ned the impression that she just may have stumbled into a way to fix the Queen's ire upon her, whether intentionally or no, and that fact alone gave him the leave to shift until he had abandoned the stump sat beside her own in favor of kneeling in the foliage at her feet, the hand that did not hold her own lifting to cup her face against his palm for a moment or two more, before he spoke once again.

"She will not touch you, Sabrynna," He promised, knowing, somehow, that he would get nowhere in attempting to discern exactly why his young niece seemed to believe she was worthy of Cersei Lannister's anger, and settling instead for giving her every reason to believe that she was safe in his care, even if she had, "Nothing will touch you while you are here in Winterfell. That is a promise."

"And you have no idea how much that means to me, Uncle. How grateful I am that you have allowed me to be here at all."

"Ah, but I think that I do," Eddard corrected, smiling at the young woman looking down at him with something he could only describe as abundant gratitude, her eyes shining with tears, though she seemed to be exerting her best efforts towards keeping them in check. Not for the first time, he was brought to mind of exactly how similar her current situation had been to his own, growing up as Jon Arryn's ward in a place as foreign to him as Winterfell had surely been to her, upon her arrival. And although he hoped that she would not follow in his fate, getting swept into a war that she could not escape, Ned also knew that Sabrynna Arryn would likely stand as strong against the assaults from all sides that he himself had faced, even if she did.

She may doubt her own instincts, and her youth may have kept her innocent to the darker ways of the world, but if there was one thing Eddard Stark knew, it was that his niece possessed an inner strength that would see her, and hopefully his children as well, so long as they all remained close, through anything that the evils of the world threw their way.

"What would you say to venturing back inside, and sitting by the hearth for a time?" The Lord of Winterfell asked, then, aware of the momentary flash of apprehension in Sabrynna's eyes, though she managed a nod for his benefit, regardless, "You need not return to the feast, child. But I daresay your cousins and aunt will want to see that you are safe with their own eyes, after so long apart."

Whether they had truly had any reason to worry or not, Ned knew that Catelyn and his children would relish spending the remainder of the evening with the young woman he now tucked against his side after helping her to stand, his arm curving about her slender shoulders to keep her there while they returned, together, to the castle and the warmth inherent therein.

Whatever threats that the Queen did or did not pose to all of them could be dealt with at a later time.

…


End file.
